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About Google Book Search Google's mission is to organize the world's information and to make it universally accessible and useful. Google Book Search helps readers discover the world's books while helping authors and publishers reach new audiences. You can search through the full text of this book on the web at|http: //books .google .com/I 'X'sL JL . ; s'x"? ^' 7 7 ^ Vavv Ti9 SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. i^L /- «^ *--» A-m •► •• -i.v /- #» THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. BT ANTHONY TROLLOPE, AV^aOR or "l^AKLKT PABSOHAOI,'' " BABCHIBTBB TOWMBa," RC., BTa V IN TWO VOLUMES. VOL I. LONDON i CHAPMAN & HALL, 193, PICCADILLY. 1879. [AU nighia lUservecU] Loim BltADBURY, AONEW, 4t GO^ PfilMTKUS, WHITEFKIAIU3 CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. THB SQWOLK OW AI*iaNOT0Jf - . 1 CHAPTER II. THK TWO nCA-RTJ» OJ- ALUNOTON ' » * ^ . . , H CHAPTER III. THE WII>01W 1>AX- • • •• . 49 CHAPTER VI. • • • • . • • • • 99 CHAPTER yil. BWXorNXKO or tbottblrb . . . , . . , . . . 73 OHAPTER VIII. GBAPTEE IX. HSS. I>AI.X'8 UXTLB PAin 97 vi CONTENTS. CHAPTER X. PAGV MRS LUPKX AND AMELIA BOPBR . . ^ . . . . CHAPTER XI. SOCIAL LIFE ^ CHAPTER XII. LIUAM DALB BlOOinS A BUTTJtBFLT CHAPTER XIII. A VISIT TO OtntSTWIOK . ' . 149 CHAPTER XIV. JOHN EAMBB TAKES A WALK 161 CHAPTER XV.; THB LAST DAY . . . 170 CHAPTER XVI. MB. CBOSBIX MEETS AN OLD OLEBGTMAN ON HIS WAT TO COUBGT 04STLE 184 CHAPTER XVII. OOnSCT GA8TLS • • . 192 CHAPTER XVin. ULT dale's fibst lovb-letteb . • . . . . . < 209 CHAPTER XIX. THE SQX7IRE MAKES A^^YISIT TO THB SMALL HOUSE .... 219 A CHAPTER XX. I^IU OBOFES . • 231 I. • > CONTENTS. Tu CHAPTER XXI. PAGX JOHN IAMBS BNCX>UNTBR8 TWO ADVINTUBIS, AHD DI8PLATB ORBAT OOUBAOX Ur BOTH ^ . • 240 CHAPTER XXII. LOBD DB aUBST AT HOMB » . • . . 255 CHAPTER XXIII. MB. PLANTAGSNBT PALLI8BR . , 266 I ! CHAPTER XSV. A MOTBXR-IK-I.A.W AND A FATHKB-IN-I^W 287 CHAPTER XXV. ASOIPHUS CBOSBIX SPKTDS AK KVKinilO AT HIB OLUB CHAPTER XXVI. lABB DX OOXTBSyi VS THX BOSOM OV BIS. FAIOLX . . . . , 306 CHAPTER XXVII. "oh XT BOKOVB, I DO NOT UNSBBaTAllD IT.. 217 CHAPTER XXVIII. TBI BOA]U> . . * ..... . . . CHAPTER XXIX. JOBK BAJOS BBTURNS TO BURTON CRESCBNT 343 CHAPTER XXX. UiTISOM HIM? . . . 352 ^ ^ ..J j THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALUNGTON. CHAPTER I. TBB dQUTBB OF ALLmOTOM« Of course tliere was a Great House at AlUugtou. How other- wise should tliere have been a Small House f Our story will, as its name imports, have its closest relations with those who lived in the less dignified domicile of the two ; but it will have close re- latioua also wmth the more dignified, and it may be well that I should, in the first instance, say a few woxds as to the Qreat House and Its ownar. The squires of Allington had been squires of Allington since squires, sach &s squires are now, were first known in England. From fatber to son, from unde to nephew, and, in one instance, from secoxid cousin to second cousin, the sceptre had descended in the family of tbe Dales ; and the acres had remained intact, grow- ing in value axid not decreasing in number, though guarded by no entail and protected by no wonderful amount of prudence or wisdom. Tlie estate of Dale of Allington had been coterminous with the parish of Allington for some himdreds of years; and though, as X bave said, the race of squires had possessed nothing of BuperhixmaJi discretion, and had perhaps been guided in their ^alks througb life by no very distinct principles, still there had been with tbem so much of adherence to a sacred law, that no acre of the proi>ert7 had ever been parted^from the hands of the ex^* vol- I. *■ >i THE SMALL HOUSE AI ALLINGTON. tilting, squire. Some futile attempts had been made to increase the territory, as indeed had been done by Kit Dale, the father of Christopher Dale, who will appear as our squire of Allington when the persons of our drama are introduced. Old Kit Dale, who had married money, had bought outlying farms, — a bit of ground here and a bit there, — talking, as he did so, much of political influence and. of ishe.good' old Tory cause. Bat these famvs and bits of ground had gone again before our time. To them had been attached no religion. When old Kit had found himself pressed in that matter of the majority of the Nineteenth Dragoons, in which crack regiment his second son made for himself quite a career, he found it easier to sell than to save - seeing that that which he sold was his own and not the patrimony of the Dales. At his death the remainder of these purchases had gone. Family arrange- ftients required completion, and Christopher Dale ' requited ready money. The outlying farms flew away, as such new purchases had flown before ; but the old patrimony naf the Dales remained un- touched, as it had ever remained. It had been a religion among them ; and seeing that the worship had been carried on without fail > that the vestal fire had tiever gone down upon the hearth, I should not have said that the Dales had walked their ways witliout high principle. To this religion they had all adhered, and the new heir had ever entered in upon his domain without other incumbrances than those with which he himself was already burdened. And yet there had been no entail. The idea of an entail was not in accordance with the peculiarities of the Dale mind. It was necessary to the Dale religion that each squire should have the power of wasting the acres of Allington, — and that he should abstain from wasting them. I remember to have dined at a house, the whole glory and fortune of which de- pended on the safety of a glass goblet. We all know the story. If the luck of Edenhall should be shattered, the doom of the family %ould be sealed. .Nevertheless I was bidden to drink out of the fatal glass, as were all guests in that house. It would not have contented the chivalrous n!ind of the master to protect his doom THE SQUIRE OF ALLINGTON, z by lock and key and padded chest. And so it was with the Dales^ of AUington. To them an entail would have been a look and key' and a padded chest ; but the old chivalry of their hotise denied to them the use of such protection. I have spoken something slightingly of the acquirements' and doings of the family ; and indeed, their acquirements had been few and their doings little. At AUington , Dale uf AUington had always been known as a king. At Ouestwick, the neighbouring market town, he was a great man — to be seen fre- quently on Saturdays, standing in the market-place, and laying down the law as to barley and oxen among men who knew usually more about barley and oxen than did he. At Hamersham, the assize town, he was generally in some repute, being a constant grand juror for the county, and a man who paid his way. But even at Hamersham the glory of the Dales had, at most periods, begun to pale, for they had seldom been widely conspicuous in the county, and had earned no great reputation by their knowledge of jurisprudence in the grand jury room. Beyond Hamersham their fame had not spread itself. They bad been men generally built in the same mould, in- heriting each from his father the same virtues and the same vices, —men who would have lived, each, as his father had lived before him, had not the new ways of the woHd gradually drawn away with them, by an invisible magnetism, the up-coming Dale of the day, — ^not indeed in any case so moving him as to bring him U3 to the spirit of the age in which he lived, but dragging him forward to a line in advance of that on which his father had trodden. They had been obstinate men ; believing much in themselves ; just ac- oordmg to their ideas of justice ; hard to their tenants — but not known to be hard even by the tenants themselves, for the rules followed had ever been the rules on the AUington estate; im- penous to their wives and children, but imperious within bounds, 80 that no Mrs. Dale had fled from her lord's roof, and no loud vandals had existed between father and sons ; exacting in their ideaa as to feftoney," expecting that they were to receive much and B 2 4 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON, to give little, and yet not thought to be mean, for they paid their way, and gave money in parish charity and in county charity. They had ever been steady supporters of the Church, graciously receiving into their parish such new vicars as, from time to time, were sent to them from King*s College, Cambridge, to which es^ tablishment the gift of the living belonged ; — but, nevertheless, the Dales had ever carried on some unpronounced warfare against the clergyman, so that the intercourse between the lay fiunily and the clerical had seldom been in all respects pleasant. Such had been the Dales of AUington, time out of mind^ and such in all respects would have been the Christopher Dale of our time, had he not suifered two accidents in his youth. He had fallen in love with a lady who obstinately refused his hand, and on her account he had remained single ; that was his first accident. The second had fallen upon him with reference to his father's assumed wealth. He had supposed himself to be richer than other Dales of AUington when coming in upon his property, and had consequently entertained an idea of sitting in Parliament for his county. In order that he might attain this honour, he had allowed himself to be talked by the men of Hamersham and Guestwick out of his old family politics, and^had declared him- self a Liberal. He had never gone to fthe poll, and, indeed, had never actually stood for the seat. But he had come forward as a liberal politician, and had failed ; and, although it was well known to all around that Christopher Dale was in heart as thoroughly conservative as any of his forefathers, this accident had made him sour and silent on the subject of politics, and had somewhat es- tranged him from his brother squires. In other respects our Christopher Dale waa, if anything, superior to the average of the family. Those whom he did love he loved dearly. Those whom he hated he did not ill-use beyond the limits of justice. He was close in small matters of money, and yet in certain family arrangements he was, as we shall see, capable of mucb. liberality. He endeavoured to do his duty in accordance with his lights, and had succeeded in weaning himself from personal in^ THE SQUIRE OF ALLINGTON. S dulgenoes, to which during the early days of his high hope« he had become accustomed. And in that matter of his unrequited love he had been true throughout. In his hard, dry, un- pleasant way he had loved the woman ; and when at last he learned to 'know that Bbe would not have his love, he had been unable to transfer his heart to another. This had happened just at the period of his father's death, and he hieui endeavoured to con- sole himself with politics, with what fate we have already seen. A constant, upright, and by ho means insincere man was our Chris- topher Dale, — ^thin and meagrie in his mental attributes, by no means even understanding the fulness of a fall man, with power of eye-sight very limited in seeing aught which was above him, but yet worthy of regard in that he had realized a path of duty and did endeavour to walk therein. And, moreover, our Mr. Christo- pher Dale was a gentleman. Sach in character wd« the squire of Allington, the only regular inhabitant of the Great House. In person, he [was a plain, diy man, with short grizzled hair and thick grizzled ■ eyebrows. Of beazdy he had very little, carrying the snmllest possible grey whiskers, which hardly fell below the points of his ears. His eyes were sharp and expressive, and his nose was straight and well fonned, — as was also his chin. But the nobility of his face was destroyed by a mean mouth with thin lips; and his forehead, which was high and narrow, though it farbad you to take Mr. Dale fen: a fool, forbad you also to take him for a man of great parts, or of a wide capacity. In height, he was about five feet ten ; and at the time of our story was as near to seventy as he was to sixty. But years had treated him very lightly, and he bore few ffigns qX. age. Such in person was Christopher Dale, Esq., the squire of Allington, and owner of some ^hree thousand a year, all of which proceeded 'from the lands of that parisL And now I will speak of the Great House of Allington. Aftei; sll, it was not very great ; nor was it surrounded by joauch of .thai exquisite nobility of park apptirtenance which graces the habitations of most of our ^old landed proprietors. But the house itself was "<6 THE SMALL HOU^B AT ALLINGfOtT. <7Bry graceful. It had been built in the days of the earlj^^StuartSy in *that «tyl» of architecture to which we give the name of the Tudors. On its front it showed three pointed roofe, or gablee^ as I believe they should be called ; and between each gable a thin tall chimney stood, the peaks I have mentioned. I think that the beauty of the house depended much on those two chimneys ; on them, and on the mullioned windows witti which the front of the house was closely filled. The door, with its jutting porch, was by no means in the centre of the house. As you entered, there was but one window on your right hand, while on your left there were three. And over these there was a line of five windows, one taking its place above the porch. We all know the beautiful old Tudor window, with its stout stone mullions and its stone transoms, cross- ing from Bide to side at a point much nearer to the top thatn to the bottom. Of all windows ever invented it isHthe sweetest. And here, at Allington, I think their beauty was enhanoed by the fact that they were not regular in their shape. Some of these windows were long windows, while some of them were high. T)iat to the right of the door, and that at the other extremity of the house, were among the former. But the others had been put in without regard to uniformity, a long window here, and a high window there, with a general effect which could hardly have been improved. Then above, in the three gables, were three other smaller apertures. But these also were mullioned, and the entire frontage of the house was uniform in its style. Round the house there were trim gardens, not very lai^, but worthy of much note in that they were so trim, — gardens with broad gravel paths, with one walk running in front of the house so broad as to be fitly called a terrace. But tiiis, though in firont of the house, was sufficientiy removed from it to allow of a coach-road running inside it to the front door. The Dales of Allington had always been gardeners, and their garden was perhaps more noted in the county than any other of their properties. But outside the gardens no pretensions had been made to the grandeur of a domain. TffE SQUIRE OF ALLINGTON: r The pastures lx>and the house were but pretty fielda, in whicir timber was abundant. There was no deer-park at Allington ; and though &e Allington woods were well known, they formed no por^ tion of the whole of which the house was a part. They lay away, out of sight, a Ml mOe from the back of the hoose ; but not on that account of less avail for the fitting preservation of foxes. And the house stood much too near the road for purposes of grandeur, had such purposes ever swelled the breast of any of the squires of Allington. But I fancy that our ideas of rural grandeur have altered since many of our older country seats were built. To be near the village, so as in some way to afford comfort, protection^, and patronage, [and perhaps also'with some view to the pleasant- ness of neighbourhood for its own iumates, seemed to be the object of a gentleman when building his house in the old days. A solitude in the centre of a wide park is now the only site that can be re- cognised as eligibla No cottage must be seen, unless the cottage om^ of the gardener. The village, if it cannot be abolished, must foe goi out of eight. The sound of the ohureh bells is not desirable, andthe'roakl on which the profane vulgar travel by their own light must be at a distance. Wheh some old Dale of Allington bnilt his house, he thought differently. There stood the church and there the village, and, pleased with such vicinity,' he sat him- self down close to his God and to his tenants. As you pass along the road from Guestwick into the village you see the church near to you on your left hand ; but the house is bidden from the road. As you approach the church, reaching the gate of it which is not above two hundred yards from the^high road, yon see the full front of the Great House; Perhaps the best view of it is from the churchyard. The lane leading up to the church ends in a gate, which is the entrance into Mr. Dale's place. There is no lodge there, and the gate generally stands open, — indeed, always does so, unless some need of cattle grazing within requires that it should be dosed. But there is an inner gate, leading from the home paddock, through the gardens to the house, and another inner gate, some thirty yards further on, which will take you into -r 8 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. t^e farm-jaxd. Ferfaaps it Ib » defect at AlUngton that the bam' jard h very dose to the house. Bat the stabke^ and the straw- yardSi and the iinwiashed carta, and the lazy lingering cattle of the homestead, are screened off by a row of cheatnats, which, whm in its glory of flower, in ihe early days of May, no other row in England can surpass in beauty. Had anyone told Dale of Ailing- f[ ton — this Dale clitics, oj» 1 6 THE SMALL HO USB AT ALLINGTON. reli^oQ, on the philanthropic tendencies of the age, and had read something here and there as he formed his opinion. Perhaps he might have done better m the world had he not been placed so early in life in that Whitehall public office. There was that in him which might have earned better bread for him in an open profession. But in that matter of his bread the fate of Adolphus Crosbie had by this time been decided for him, and he had reconciled himself to fate that was now inexorable. Some very slight patri- mony, a hundred a year or so, had fallen to his share. Beyond that he had his salary from his office, and nothing else ; and on his income, thus made up, he had lived as a bachelor in London, enjoying all that London could give him as a man in moderatelj easy circumstances, and looking forward to no costly luxuries, — such as a wife, a house of his own, or a stable full of horses. Those which he did enjoy of the good things of the world would, if known to John Eames, have made him appear fabulously rich in the eyes- of that brother derk. His lodgings in Mount Street were elegant in their belongings. During three months of the season in Londo» he called himself the master oi a very neat hack. He was always well dressed, though never over-dressed. At his dubs he ooukt live on equal terms with men having ten times his income. He> was not married. He had acknowledged to himself that he oould not marry without money ; and he would not marry for money^ He had put aside from him, as not within his^ reach, the comforts of marriage. But We will not, however, at the present moment inquire more curiously into the private life and oirouia- stances of our new friend Adolphus Orosbie. After the sentence pronounced against him by Lilian,, the two gu*ls remained silent for awhile. Bell was, perhaps, a little angry with her sister. It was not often that she allowed herself to say much in praise of any gentleman ; and, now that she had spoken. a word or two in favour of Mr. Crosbie, she felt herself to be rebuked by her isister for this unwonted enthusiasm, Lily was at THE TWO PEARLS OF ALLINGTON. ij work on a drawing, and in a minute or two had forgotten all about Mr. Crosbie ; but the injury remained on Bell's mind, and prompted her to go back to the subject. " I don*t like those slang words, Lily." " What slang words ? " " You know what you called Bernard's friend." " Oh ; a swell. I fandy I do like slang. I think it's awfully jolly to talk about things being jolly. Only that I was afraid of your nerves I should have called him stunning. It's so slow, you know, to use nothing but words out of a dictionary." ^l don't think it's nice in talking of gentlemen." " Isn't it 1 Well, I'd Uke to be nice— if I knew how." If she knew how ! There is no knowing how, for a girl, in that matter. If nature and her mother have not done it for her, there is no hope for her on that head. I think I may say that nature and her mother had been sufficiently efficacious for Lilian Dale in this respect. ^'Afr. Crosbie is, at any rate, a gentleman, aud knows how to make himself pleasant That was all that I meant. Mamma said a great deal more about him than I did." " Mr. Crosbie is an Apollo ; and I always look upon Apullo as the greatest — you know what — that ever lived. I mustn't say the word, because Apollo was a gentleman." At this moment, while the name of the god was still on her lips, the high open window of the drawing-room was darkened, aud Bernard entered, followed by Mr. Crosbie. " Who is talking about Apollo 1 " said Captain Dale. The girls were both stricken dumb. How would it be with them if Mr. Crosbie had heard himself spoken of in those last words of poor Lily's 1 This was the rashness of which Bell was ever accusing ber sister, and here was the result ! But, in truth, Bernard had beard nothing more than the name, and Mr. Crosbie, who had been behind him, bad heard nothing, "*As sweet and musical as bright Apollo's lute, strung with bis hair,' " said Mr. Crosbie, not meaning much by the quotation, VOL. L ^ 1 8 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. but perceiving that the two girls had been in some way put out and silenced. " What very bad music it must have made,^ said Lily ; " unless, indeed, his hair was very different from ours." " It was all sunbeams," suggested Bernard. But by that time Apollo had served his turn, and the ladies welcomed their guests in the proper form. *' Mamma is in the garden," said Bell, with that hypocritical pretence so common with young ladies when young gentlemen call; as though they were aware that mamma was the object specially sought. "Picking peas, with a sun bonnet on," said Lily. '* Let us by all means go and help her," said Mr. Crosbie ; and then they issued out into the garden. The gardens of the Great House of Allington and those of the Small House open on to each other. A proper boundary of thick jaurel hedge, and wide ditch, and of iron spikes guarding the ditch, there is between them ; but over the wide ditch there is a foot- bridge, and at the bridge there is a gate which has no key ; and for all purposes of enjoyment the gardens of each house are open to the other. And the gardens of the Small House are very pretty. The Small House itself is so near the road that there is ufothiDg be- tween the dining-room windows and the iron rail but a narrow edge rather than border, and a little path made with round fixed cobble stones, not above two feet broad, into which no one but the gar- dener ever makes his way. The distance from the road to tLe house is not above five or six feet, and the entrance from the gate is shut in by a covered way. But the garden beliind the house, on to which the windows from the drawing-room open, is to all the senses as private as though there were no village of Allington, and no road up to the church within a hundred yards of the lawn. The steeple of the church, indeed, can be seen from the lawn, peering, as it were, between the yew-trees which stand in the comer of the churchyard adjoining to Mrs. Dale's wall But none of the Dale family have any objection to the sight of that steeple. The ^lory THE TWO PEARLS OF ALLINGTON. 19 of the Small House at Allington certainly conBists in its lawn,, which IS as smooth, as level, and as much like velvet as grass hag ever yet been made to look. Lily Dale, taking pride in her owiv lawn, has declared often that it is no good attempting to play croquet up at the Great House. The grass, she says, grows in tofts, and nothing that Hopkins, the gardener, can or will do has any effect upon the tufts. But there are no tufts at the Small House. As the squire himself has never been very enthusiastic about croquet, the croquet implements have been moved per- manently down to the Small House, and croquet there has become quite an institution. And while I am on the subject of the garden I may also mention Mrs. Dale's conservatory,, as to which Bell was strenuously of opinion that the Great House had nothing to offer equal to it — *'For flowers, of course, I mean," she would say, correcting herself; for at the Great House there was a grapery very celebrated. On this matter the squire would be less tolerant than as regarded the croquet, and would tell his niece that she knew nothing about flowers. " Perhaps not, uncle Christopher," she would say. " All the same, I like our geraniums best ; " for there was a spice of obstinacy about Miss Dale, — a:s, indeed, there was in all the Dales, male and female, young and old. It may be as well to explain that th/ care of this lawn and of this conservatory, and, indeed, of the entire garden belonging to the Small House, was in the hands of Hopkins^ the head gardener to the Great House ; and it was so simply for this reason, that Mrs. Dale oould not afford to keep a gardener herself. A working lad, at ten shillings a week, who cleaned the knives and shoes, and dug the ground, was the only male attendant on the three ladies. But Ho|>kin8, the head gardener of Allington, who had men under him, *^ as widely awake to the lawn and the conservatory of the fiombler establishment as he was to the grapery, peach-walls, and ^«Tace8 of the grander ona In his eyes it was all one place. The SmiJl House belonged to his master, as indeed did the very furniture withia it ; and it was lent, not let, to Mrs. Dale. c 2 20 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. Hopkins, perhaps, did not love Mrs. Dale, seeing that he owed her no duty as one bom a Dale. The two young ladies he did love, and also snubbed in a very peremptory way sometimes. To Mrs. Dale he was coldly civil, always referring to the squire if any direction worthy of special notice as concerning the garden was given to him. All this will serve to ex].lain the terms on which Mrs. Dale was living at the Small House, — a matter needful of explanation sooner or later. Her husband had been the youngest of three brothers, and in many respects the brightest. Early in life he had gone up to London, and there had done well as a laud surveyor. He had done so well that Government had employed him, and for some three or four years he had enjoyed a large income, but death had come suddenly on him, while he was only yet ascending the ladder; and, when he died, he had hardly begun to realize the golden prospects which he had seen before him. This had happened some fifteen years before our story commenced, so that the two girls hardly retained any memory of their father. For the first five years of her widowhood, Mrs. Dale, who had never been a favourite of the squire's, lived with her two little girls in such modest way as her very limited means allowed. Old Mrs. Dale, 'the squire's mother, then occupied the Small House. But when old Mrs. Dale died, the squire offered the place rent-free to his sister-in-law, intimating to her that her daughters wonld obtain considerable social advantages by living at Allington. She had a icepted the offer, and the social advantages had certainly followed Mrs. Dale was poor, her whole income not exceeding three hundred a year, and therefore her own style of living was of necessity very unassuming ; but she saw her girls becoming popular in the county, much liked by the families around them, and enjoying nearly all the advantages which would have accrued to them had they been the daughters of Squire Dale of Allington. Under such circum- stances it was little to her whether or no she were loved by hei brother-in-law, or respected by Hopkins. Her own girls loved h.er THE TWO PEARLS OF ALLINGTON. 21 and respected her, and that was pretty much all that she demanded of the world on her own behalf- And uncle Christopher had been very good to the girls in his own obstinate and somewhat ungracious manner. There were two ponies in the stables of the Great House, which they were allowed to ride, and which, unless on occasions, nobody else did ride. I think he might have given the ponies to the girls, but he thought differently. And he contributed to their dresses, sending them home now and again things which he thought necessary, not in the pleasantest way in the world. Money he never gave them, nor did he make them any promises. But they were Dales, and he hi^ them ; and with Christopher Dale to love once was to love always. Bell was his chief favoui'ite, sharing with his nephew Bernard the best warmth of his heart. About these two he had his projects, intending that Bell should be the future mistress of the Great House of Alliugton ; as to which project, however. Miss Dale was as yet in veiy absolute ignorance. We may now, I think, go back to our four friends, as they walked out upon the lawn. They were understood to be on a mission to assist Mrs. Dale in the picking of the peas ; but plea- sure intervened in the way of busin^^s, and the young people, for- getting the labours of their elder, allowed themselves to be carried away by the fascinations of croquet. The iron hoops and the sticks were fixed. The mallets and the balls were Ijing about ; and then the party was so nicely made up ! "I haven't had a game of croquet yet," said Mr. Crosbie. It ciinnot be said that he had lost much time, seeing that he had only anived before dinner on the preceding day. And then the mallets were in their hands in a moment " '^q'')! pls-y sides, of course," said Lily. " Bernard and I'll play together." But this was not allowed. Lily was well known to be the queen of the croquet ground ; and as Bernard was supposed to ^ more efficient than his friend, Lily had to take Mr. Crosbie as iier partner. ** Apollo can't get through the hoops," Lily said afterwards to her sister ; " but then how gracefully he fails to do -2 2 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. it ! '* Lily, however, had been beaten, and may therefore be ex- cused for a little spite against her partner. But it so turned out that before Mr. Crosbie took his final departure frpm Allington he could get through the hoops ; and Lily, though she was still queen of the croquet ground, had to acknowledge a male sovereign in that dominion. ** That's not the way we played at ," said Crosbie, at one point of the game, and then stopped himself. ** Where was that ? " said Bernard. " A place I was at last summer, — in Shropshire." **Then they don*t play the game, Mr. Crosbie, at the place you ■were at last summer, — in Shropshire," said Lily. "You mean Lady Hartletop's," said Bernard. Npw, the Mar- chioness of Hartletop was a very great pereon indeed, and a leader in the fashionable world. "Oh! Lady Hartletop's ! *' said Lily. **Then I suppose we must give in ; " which little bit of sarcasm w^as not lost upon Mr. Crosbie, and was put down by him in the tablets of his mind as qaite undeserved. He had endeavoured to avoid any mention of Lady Hartletop and her croquet ground, and her ladyship's name had been forced ui)on him. Nevertheless, he liked Lily Dale through it all. But he thought that he liked Bell the best, though she said little ; for Bell was the beauty of the family. During the game Bernard remembered that they had especially come over to bid the three ladies to dinner at the house on that day. They had all dined there on the day before, and the girls' uncle had now sent directions to them to come again. " I'll go and ask mamma about it," said Bell, who was out first. And then she returned, saying, that she and her sister would obey their uncle's behest ; but that her mother w^ould prefer to remain at home. " There are the peas to be eaten, you know," said Lily. " Send them up to the Great House," said Bernard. "Hopkins would not allow it," said Lily. "He calls that a mixing of things. Hopkins doesn't like mixings." And then when the game was over, they sauntered about, out of the small garden TffE TWO PEARLS OF ALLINGTON. 23 into the Jai^r one, and through the shrubberies, and out upon the fields, where they found the still lingering remnants of the h&jmakiaig. And Lily took a rake, and raked for two minutes ; and Mr. Crosbie, making an attempt to pitch the hay into the cart, had to pay half-a-crown for his footing to the haymakers ; and Bell sat quiet under a tree, mindful of her complexion ; where- upon Mr. Crosbie, finding the hay-pitching not much to his taste, threw himself under the satne tree also, quite after the manner of ApoUo, as Lily said to her mother late in the evening: Then Bernard covered Lily with hay, which was a great feat in the jocose way for him ; and Lily, in returning the compliment almost smothered Mr. Crosbie, — by accident. " Oh, Lily," said Bell. " Vm sure I beg your pardon, Mr. Crosbie. It was Bernard's fault. Bernard, I never will come into a hay field with you again." And 80 they all became very intimate j while Boll sat quietly under the tree, listening to a word or two now and then as Mr, Crosbie chose to speak them. There is a kind of enjoyment to be had in society, in which very few words are necessary. Bell was leas vivacious than her sister Lily ; and when, an hour after this, she was dressing herself for dinner, she acknowledged that she had passed a pleasant afternoon, though Mr. Crosbie had not said very mnch. CHAPTER III. THE WIDOW DALE OP ALLINGTON. As Mrs. Dale, of the Small House, was not a Dale by birth, there cau be no necessity for insisting on the fact that none of the Dale peculiarities should be sought for in her character. These peculiarities were not, perhaps^ very conspicuous in her daughters, who had taken more in that respect from their mother than from their father; but a close observer might recognize the girls as • Dales. They were constant, perhaps obstinate, occasionally a little uncharitable in their judgment, and prone to think that there was a great deal in being a Dale, though not prone to say much about it. But they had also a better pride than this, which had come to them as their mother's heritage. Mrs. Dale was certainly a proud woman, — not that there was anything appertaining to herself in which she took a pride. lu birth she had been much lower than her husband, seeing that her grandfather had been almost nobody. Her fortune had been con- siderable for her rank in life, and on its proceeds she now mainly depended ; but it had not been sufficient to give any of the pride of wealth. And she had been a beauty ; according to my taste, was still very lovely ; but certainly at this time of life, she, a widow of fifteen years' standing, with two grown-up daughters, took no pride in her beauty. Nor had she any conscious pride in the fact that she was a lady. That she was a lady, inwards and outwards, from the crown of her head to the sole of her feet, in head, in heart, and in mind, a lady by education and a lady by nature^ a lady also by birth, in spite of that deficiency respecting her grandfather. THE WIDOW DALE OF ALLINGTON, 25 I hereby state as a fact — meo perUulo. And the squire, though he had no special love for her, had recognized this, and in all respects treated her as his equal But her position was one which required that she should either be very proud or else very humble. She was poor, and yet her daoghters moved in a position which belongs, as a rule, to the daughters of rich men only. This they did as nieces of the child- less squire of Allington, and as his nieces she felt that they were entitled to accept his countenaut-e and kindness, without loss of self-respect either to her or to them. She would have ill done her duty as a mother to them had she allowed any pride of her own to come between them and such advantage in the world as their uncle might be able to give them. On their behalf she had accepted the loan of the house in which she lived, and the use of many of the appurtenances belonging to her brother-in-law ; but on her own account she had accepted nothing. Her marriage with Philip Dale had been disliked by his brother the squire, and the squire, while Philip was still living, had continued to show that his feelings in this respect were not to be overcome. They never had been overcome; and now, though the brother-in-law &nd sister-in-law had been close neighbours for years, living as one may say almost in the same family, they had never become friends. There had not been a word of quarrel between them. They met constantly. The squire had unconsciously come to entertain a profound respect for his brother's widow. The widow had acknowledged to herself the truth of the affection shown by the uncle to her daughters. But yet they had never come together tt friends. Of her own money matters Mrs. Dale had never spoken a word to the squire. Of his intention respecting the girls the squire had never spoken a word to the mother. And in this way they had lived and were living at Allington. The life which Mrs. Dale led was not altogether an easy life, — ^88 not devoid of much painful effort on her part. The theoiy of her life one may say was this—that she should bury herself in order that her daughters might live well above ground. And in 26 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLLNGTON, order to carry out this theory, it was necessary that ,she should abstain from all complaint or show' Of uneasiness before her girla Their life above ground would not be well if they understood that their mother, in this underground life of hers, was enduring any sacrifice on their behalf. It was needful that they should think that the picking of peas in a sun bonnet, or long readings by her own fire-side, and solitary hours spent in thinking, were specially to her mind. " Mamma doesn't like going out.*' " I don't think mamma is happy anywhere out of her own drawing-room." I do not say that the girls were taught to say such words, but they were taught to have thoughts which led to such words, and in the early days of their going out into the world used so to speak of their mother. But a time came to them before long, — to one first and then to the other, in which they knew that it was not so, and knew also that their mother had suffered for their sakes. And in truth Mrs. Dale could have been as young in heart as they were. She, too, could have played croquet, and have coquetted with a haymaker's rake, and have delighted in her pony, ay, and have listened to little nothings from this and that Apollo, had she thought that things had been conformable thereto. Women at forty do not become ancient misanthropes, or stem Rhadamanthine moralists, indifferent to the world's pleasures — ^no, not even though they be widows. There are those who think that such should be the phase of their minds. I profess that I do not so think. I would have women, and men also, young as long as they can be young. It is not that a woman should call herself in years younger than her father's Family Bible will have her to be. Let her who is forty call herself forty ; but if she can be young in spirit at forty, let her show that she is so. I think that Mrs. Dale was wrong. She would have joined that party on the croquet ground, instead of remaining among the pea- sticks in her sun bonnet, had she done as I would have counselled her. Not a word was spoken among the foiir that she did not hear. Those pea-sticks were only removed from the lawn by a low wall and a few shrubs. She listened, not as one suspecting. 2 HE WIDOW DALE OF ALLINGTON, 27 but simply as one loving. The voices of her girls were very dear to her, and the silver ringing tones of Lily's tongue were as sweet to her eai-s as the music of the gods. She heard all that ahout Lady Hartletop, and shuddered at Lily*s bold sarcasm. And she heard Lily say that mamma would stay at home and eat the peas, and said to herself sadly that that was now her lot in life. " Dear, darling girl — and so it .should be ! " It was thus her thoughts ran. And then, when her ear had traced them, as they passed acruss the little bridge into the other grounds, she returned across the lawn to the house with her burden on her arm, and sat herself down on the step of the drawing-room window, looking out on the sweet summer flowers and the smooth surface of the grass l3efore her. Had not God done well for her to place her where she was ? Had not her lines been set for her in pleasant places 1 Was she '/Dot happy in her girls^-her sweet, loving, trusting, trusty chil- I dren ? As it was to be that her lord, that best half of herself, was ^xi be taken from her in early life, and that the springs of all the lighter pleasures were to be thus stopped for her, had it not been well that in her bereavement so much had been done to soften her lot in life and give it grace and beauty ? 'Twas so, she argued with herself, and yet she acknowledged to herself that she was not happy. She had resolved, as she herself had said often, to put away childish things, and now she pined for those things which she 80 put from her. As she sat she could stiU hear Lily*s voice as they went through the shrubbery, — hear it when none but a mother's ears would have distinguished the sound. Now that those young men were at the Great House, it was natural that her girls should be there top. The squire would not have had young men to stay with him had~ there been no ladies to grace his table. But for her, — she knew that no one would want her there. Now and again she must go, as otherwise her very existence, without going, would be a thing disagreeably noticeable. But there was no other reason why she should join the party ; nor in joining it would she either give or receive pleasure. Let her daughters eat 28 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. from her brother's table and drink of his cup. They were made welcome to do so from the heart. For her there was no such welcome as that at the Great House, — nor at any other house, or any other table ! '* Mamma will stay at home to eat the peas.*' And then she repeated to herself the words which Lily had spoken, sitting there, leaning with her elbow on her knee, and her head upon her hand. " Please, ma'am, cook says, can we have the peas to shell 1 " and then her reverie was broken. Whereupon Mrs. Dale got up and gave over her basket. '* Cook knows that the young ladies are going to dine at the Great House 1 " "Yes, ma'am." "She needn't mind getting dinner for me. I will have tea early." And so, after all, Mrs. Dale did not perform that special duty appointed for her. But she soon set herself to work upon another duty. When a family of three persons has to live upon an income of three hundred a year, and, nevertheless, makes some pretence of going into society, it has to be very mindful of small details, even though that family may consist only of ladies. Of this Mrs. Dale was well aware, and as it pleased her that her daughters should be nice and fresh, and pretty in their attire, many a long hour was given up to that care. The squire would send them shawls in winter, and had given them riding habits, and had sent them down brown silk dresses from London, — so limited in quantity that the due manufacture of two dresses out of the material liad been found to be beyond the art of woman, and the brown silk garments had been a difficulty from that day to this, — ^the squire having a good memory in such matters^ and being anxious to see the fruits of his liberality. All this was doubtless of assistcmce, but had the squire given the amount which he so expended in money to his nieces, the benefit would have been greater. As it was, the girls were always nice and fresh and pretty, they themselves not being THE WIDOW DALE OF ALLINGTON. 29 idle in that matter ; but their tire-woman in chief was their mother. And now she went up to their room and got out their muslin frocks, and — ^but, perhaps, I should not tell such tales ! — She, however, felt no shame in her work, as she sent for a hot iron, and with her own hands smoothed out the creases, and gave the proper set to the crimp flounces, and fixed a new ribbon where it was wanted, and saw that all was as it should be. Men think but little how much of this kind is endured that their eyes may be pleased, even though it be but for an hour. "Oh! mamma^ how good you are," said Bell, as the two girls came in, only just in time to make themselves ready for returning to dinner. "Mamma is always good," said Lily. "I wish, mamma, I could do the same for you oftener," and then she kissed" her mother. But the squire was exact about dinner, so they dressed themselves in haste, and went off* again through the garden, their mother accompanying them to the little bridge. "Your uncle did not seem vexed at my not coming 1'' said Mrs. Dale. " We have not seen him, mamma," said Lily. " We have been ever so far down the fields, and forgot altogether what o'clock it was." " I don't think uncle Christopher was about the place, or we should have met him,'' said Bell. " But I am vexed with you, mamma. Are not you. Bell 1 It is very bad of you to stay here all alone, and not come." " I suppose mamma likes being at home better than up at the Great House," said Bell, very gently ; and as she spoke she was holding her mother's hand. " Well ; good-bye, dears. I shall expect you between ten and eleven. But don't hurry yourselves if anything is going on.'* Ant! so they went, and the widow was again alone. The path from the bridge ran straight up towards the back of the Great House, so that for a moment or two she could see them as they tripped on almost in a run. And then she saw their dresses flutter as they 30 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON, turned sharp round, up the terrace steps. She would not go beyond the nook among the laurels by which she was surrounded, lest any one should see her as she looked after her girl& But when the last flutter of the pink muslin had been whisked away fi'um her sight, she felt it hard that she might not follow them. She stood there, however, without advancing a step. She would not have Hopkins telling how she watched her daughters as they went from her own home to that of her brother-in-law. It was not within the capacity of Hopkins to understand why she watched them. " Well, girls, you're not much too soon. I think your mother might have come with you," said uncle Christopher. And this was the manner of the man. Had he known his own wishes he must have acknowledged to himself that he was better pleased that Mrs. Dale should stay away. He felt himself more absolutely master and more comfortably at home at his own table without her com- pany than with it. And yet he frequently made a grievance of her not coming, and himself believed in that grievance. " I think mamma was tired," said Bell. " Hem. It's not so very far across from one house to the other. If I were to shut myself up whenever Fm tired But never mind. Let's go to dinner. Mr. Crosbie, will you take my niece Lilian." And then, oflering his own arm to Bell, he walked off to the dining- room. " If he scolds mamma any more, I'll go away," said Lily to her companion ; by which it may be seen that they had all become very intimate during the long day that they had passed together. Mrs. Dale, after remaining for a moment on the bridge, went in to her tea. What succedaneum of mutton chop or broiled ham she had for the roast duck and green peas which which were to have been provided for the family dinner we will not particularly inquire. We may, however, imagine that she did not devote her- self to her evening repast with any peculiar energy of appetite. She took a book with her as she sat herself down, — some novel, probably, for Mr& Dale was not above novels, — and read a page or THE WIDOW DALE OF ALLINGTON. 31 two as she sipped her tea. But the book was sooa laid on one side, and the tray on which the warm plate had become cold was neglected, and she threw herself back in her own familiar chair, thinking of herself, and of her girls, and thinking also what might have been her lot in life had he lived who had loved her truly during the few years that they had been together. It is especially the nature of a Dale to be constant in his likings and his dislikings. Her husband's affection for her had been un- swerving,— so much so that he had quarrelled with his brother because bis brother would not express himself in brotherly terms about his wife ; but, nevertheless, the two brothers had loved each other always. Many years, had now gone by since these things had occurred, but still the same feelings remained. When she had first come down to Allington she had resolved to win the squire's regard, but she had now long known tliat any such winning was out of the question; indeed, there was no longer a wish for it. Mrs. Dale was not one of those soft-hearted women who sometimes thank God that they can love any one. She could once have felt affection for her brother-in-law, — affection, and close, careful, sisterly friendship ; but she could not do so now. He had been cold to her, and had with perseverance rejected her advances. That was now seven years since ; and during those years Mrs. Dale had been, at any rate, as cold to him as he had been to her. But all this was very hard to bear. That her daughters should love their uncle was not only reasonable^ but in every way desirable. He was not cold to them. To them he was generous and affectionate. If she were only out of the way, he would have taken them to his house as his own, and they would in all respects have stood before the world as his adopted children. Would it not be better if she were out of the way ? It was only in her most dismal moods that this question would get itself aaked within her mind, and then she would recover her- self aad answer it stoutly with an indignant protest against her own moiHbid weakness. It would not be well that she should be away firom her girls, — not though their uncle should have been 32 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. twice a better uncle ; not though, by her absence, they might become heiresses of all AUington. Was it not above everything to them that they should have a mother near them 1 And as she asked of herself that morbid question, — wickedly asked it, as she declared to herself, — did she not know that they loved her better than all the world beside, and would prefer her caresses and her care to the guardianship of any uncle, let his house be ever so great % As yet they loved her better than all the world beside. Of other love, should it come, she would not be jealous. And if it should come, and should be happy, might there not yet be a bright evening of life for herself % If they should marry, and if their lords would accept her love, her friendship, and her homage, she might yet escape from the deathlike coldness of that Great House, and be happy in some tiny cottage, from which she might go forth at times among those who would really welcome her. A certain doctor there was, living not very far from AUington, at Guestwick, as to whom she had once thought that he might fill that place of son-in-law, — to be well-beloved. Her quiet, beautiful Bell had seemed to like the man ; and he had certainly done more than seem to like her. But now, for some weeks past, this hope, or rather this idea, had faded away. Mrs. Dale had never questioned her daughter on the matter ; she was not a woman prone to put such questions. But during the month or two last past, she had seen with regret that Bell looked almost coldly on the man whom her mother favoured. In thinking of all this the long evening passed away, and at eleven o'clock she heard the coming steps across the garden. The young men had, of course, accompanied the girls home ; and as she stepped out from the still open window of her own drawing-room, she saw them all on the centre of the lawn before her. " There's mamma," said Lily. " Mamma, Mr. Crosbie wants to play croquet by moonlight." " I don't think there is light enough for that," said Mrs. Dale. " There is light enough for him,'* said Lily, " for he plays quite independently of the hoops ; don't you, Mr. Crosbie ? " THE WIDOW DALE OF ALLINGTON. 33 ** There's very pretty croqaet light, I should say/* said Mr. Grosbie, looking up at the bright moon ; *' and then it is so stupid gcHug to bed." '* Yes, it is stupid going to bed/' said Lily ; ** but people in the country are stupid, you know. Billiards, that you can play all night by gas, is much better, isn't it 9 " " Your arrows fall terribly astray there, Miss Dale, for I never touch a cue ; you should talk to your cousin about billiards." *' Is Bernard a great billiard player," asked Bell. " Well, I do play now and again ; about as well as Orosbie does x^roquet. Come, Crosbie, we'll go home and smoke a cigar." " Yes," said Lily ; "and then, you know, we stupid people can go to bed Mamma, I wish you bad a little smoking-room here for us. I don't like being considered stupid." And then they parted, — the ladies going into the house, and the two men returning across the lawn. " Lily, my love," said Mrs. Dale, when they were all together in her bedroom, '* it seems to me that you are very hard upon Mr. Orosbie." ''She has been going on like that all the evening," said Bell. I'm sure we are very good friends," said Lily. Oh, very," said BelL "Now, Bell, you're jealous; you know you are." And then, seeing that her sister wasin some slight degree vexed, she went up to her and kissed her. '^ She shan't be called jealous ; shall she, mamma ? " *' I don't think she deserves it," said Mrs. Dale. " Now, you don't mean to say that you think I meant anything," said Lily. " As if I cared a buttercup about Mr. Crosbie." " Or I either, Lily." "Of course you don't. But I do care for him very much, mamma. He is such a duck of an Apollo. I shall always call him Apollo ; Phodbus Apollo ! And when I draw^his picture he shall have a mallet in his hand instead of a bow. Upon my word VOL. I. D 24 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. I am yery much obliged to Bernard for bringing him down here ; and I do wish he was not going away the day after to-morrow. "I The day after to-morrow ! " said Mrs. Dale. "It was hardly worth coming for two days.*' " No, it was-n't, — disturbing us all in our quiet little ways ju»t for such a spell as that, — not giving one time even to count his rays.'' • r " But he says he shall perhaps come again," said Bell. " There is that hope for us," said Lily. " Uncle Christopher asked him to come down when he gets his long leave of absence. This is only a short sort of leave. He is better off than poor Johnny Eames. Johnny Eames only has a month, but Mr. Crosbie has two months just whenever he likes it ; and seems to be pretty much his own master all the year round besides." *' And uncle Christopher asked him to come down for the shoot- ing in September," said Bell. "And though he didn't say he'd come I think he meant it,'* said Lily. " There is that hope for us, mamma." " Then you'll have to draw Apollo with a gun instead of let mallet." " That is the worst of it, mamma. We shan't see much of him or of Bernard either. They won't let us go out into the woods as beaters, would they 1 '* " You'd make too much noise to be of any use.*' '' Should I ? I thought the beaters had to shout at the birds. I should get very tired of shouting at birds, so I think I'll stay at home and look after my clothes." " I hope he will come, because uncle Christopher seems to like him so much," said Bell. " I wonder whether a certain gentleman at Guestwick will like his coming," said Lily. And then, as soon as she had spoken the words, she looked at her sister, and saw that she had grieved her. " Lily, you let your tongue run too fast," said Mrs. Dale. " I didn't mean anything. Bell," said Lily. " I beg your pardon." THE WIDOW DALE OF ALLTNGTON. 35 ^' It doesn't signify/' said Bell. '' Only Lily says things without thmking." And then that conversation came to an end, and nothing more was said among them beyond what appertained to their toilet, and a few last words at parting. But the two girls occupied the same room, and when their own door was closed upon them, Bell did allude to what had passed with some spirit. •* Lily, you promised me," she said, " that you would not say anything more to me about Dr. Crofts." " 1 know I did, and I was very wrong. I beg your pardon, Bell ; and I won't do it again, - not if I can help it." "Not help it, Lily!" "But I'm sure I don't know why I shouldn't speak of him, — only not in the way of laughing at you. Of all the men I ever saw in my life I like him best. And only that I love you better than I love myself I could find it in my heart to grudge you his——" "Lily, what did you promise just now?" "Well; after to-night. And I don't know why you should turn against him." " I have never turned against him or for him." "There's no turning about him. He'd give his left hand if you'd only smile on him. Or his right either, — and that's what I should lite to see ; so now you've heard it." "You know you are talking nonsense." "So I should like to se^it. And so would mamma, too, I'm «iire ; though I never heard her say a word about him. In my mind he's the finest fellow I ever saw. What's Mr. Apollo Crosbie to him ? And now, as it makes you unhappy, I'll never say another word about bim." As Bell wished her sister gOod-night with perhaps more than her Qsual affection,^ it was evident that Lily's words and eager tone had in some way pleased her, in spite of their opposition to the request which she had made. And Lily was aware that it was so. B 2 CHAPTER IV. MRS. ROPER^S BOARDING-HOUSE. I HAVE said that John Eames had heen petted by none but his mother, but I would not have it supposed, on this account, that John Eames had no friends. There is a class of young men who never get petted, though they may not be the less esteemed, or perhaps loved. They do not come forth to the world as Apollos, nor shine at all, keeping what light they may have for inward purposes. Such young men are often awkward, ungainly, and not yet formed in their gait ; they straggle with then* limbs, and are shy ; words do not come to them with ease, when words are re- quired, among any but their accustomed associates. Social meetings are periods of penance to them, and any appearance in public will unnerve them. They go much about alone, and blush when women speak to them. In truth, they are not as yet men, whatever the number may be of their years ; and, as they are no longer boys, the world has found for them the ungraceful name of hobbledehoy. Such observations, however, as I have been enabled to make on this matter have led me to believe that the hobbledehoy is by no means the least valuable species of the human race. When I compare the hobbledehoy of one or two and twenty to some finished Apollo of the same age, I regard the former as unripe fruit, and the latter as fruit that is ripe. Then comes the question as to the two fruits. Which is the. better fruit, that which ripens early — which is, perhaps, favoured with some little forcing ap- paratus, or which, ^t least, is backed by the warmth of a southern wall ; or that of fruit of slower growth, as to which nature works JfJ^S. ROFEieS BOARDING-HOUSE, 37 without assistaDce, on which the sun operates in its own time, — or perhaps never operates if some ungenial shade has been allowed to mterpose itself ? The world, no doubt, is in favour of the forcing apparatus or of the southern wall. The fruit comes certEunly, and at an assured period. It is spotless, speckless, and of a certain quality by no means despicable. The owner has it when he wants it, and it serves its turn. But, nevertheless, according to my thinking, the fullest flavour of the sun is given to that other fruit, —is given in the sun's own good time, if so be that no ungenial shade has interposed itself. I like the smack of the natural growth, and like it, perhaps, the better because that which has been obtained tas been obtained without favour. But the hobbledehoy, though he blushes when women address bim, and is uneasy even when he is near them, though he is not master of his limbs in a ball-room, and is hardly master of his tongue at any time, is the most eloquent of beings, and especially eloquent among beautiful women. He enjoys all the triumphs of a Don Juan, without any of Don Juan's heartlessuess, and is able to conquer in all encounters, through the force of his wit and the sweetness of his voice. But this eloquence is heard only by his own inner ears, and these triumphs are the triumphs of liis imagination. The true hobbledehoy is much alone, not being greatly given to social intercourse even with other hobbledehoys — a trait in his character which I think has hardly been sufficiently observed by the world at large. He has probably become a hobbledehoy instead of an Apollo, because circumstances have not afforded him much social intercourse j and, therefore, he wanders about in solitude, taking long walks, in which he dreams of those successes which aw 80 far removed from his powers of achievement. Out in the fields, with his stick in his hand, he is very eloquent, cutting off the heads of the springing summer weeds, as he practices his oratory with energy. And thus he feeds an imagination for which those who know him give him but scanty credit, and unconsciously prepares himself for that later ripening, if only the ungenial shade will some day cease to interpose itsel£ 38 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGZON, Such hobbledehoys receive but little petting, unless it be from a mother ; and sucli a hobbledehoy was John Eames when be was sent away from Guestwick to begin his life in the big room of a public office in London. We may say that there was nothing of the young Apollo about him. But yet he was not without friends — friends who wished him well, and thought much of his welfare. And he had a younger sister who loved him dearly, who had no idea that he was a hobbledehoy, being somewhat of a hobblede- hoya heraelf. Mrs. .Barnes, their mother, was a widow, living in a small house in Guestwick, whose husband had been throughout his whole life an intimate friend of our squire. He had been a man of many misfortunes, having begun the world almost with affluence, and having ended it in poverty. He had lived all his days in Guest- wick, having at one time occupied a large tract of land, and lost much money in experimental farming ; and late in life he had taken a small house on the outskirts of the town, and there had died, some two years previously to the commencement of this story. With no other man had Mr. Dale lived on terras so intimate ; and when Mr. Eames died Mr. Dale acted as executor under his will, and as guardian to his children. He had, moreover, obtained for John Elames that situation under the Crown which he now held. And Mrs. Eames had been and still was on very friendly terms with Mrs. Dale. The squire had never taken quite kindly to Mrs. Eames, whom her husband had not met till he was already pa&t forty years of age. But Mrs. Dale had made up by her kindness to the poor forlorn woman for any lack of that cordiality which might have been shown to her from the Great House. Mrs. Eames was a poor forlorn woman — forlorn even during the time of her husband's life, but very wobegone now in her widowhood. In matters of importance the squire had been kind to her ; arranging for her her little money affairs, advising her about her house and income, also getting for her that appointment for her son. But he snubbed her when he met her, and poor Mrs. Eames held him in great awe. Mrs. Dale held her brother-in-law iti no awe, and MRS. ROPEI^S BOARDING-HOUSE. 39 sometimes gave to the widow from Guestwick advice quite at variance to that giv^en bj the squire. In this way there had growifc up an intimacy between Bell and Lily and the young Eames, and either of the girls was prepared to declare that Johnny Eames was her own and well-loved friend. Nevertheless, they 8pok« of him occasionally with some little dash of merriment — as is not unusual with pretty girls who have hobbedelioys among their intimate friends, and who are not themselves unaccustomed to the grace of an Apollo. i may as well announce at once that John Eames, when he went up to London, was absolutely and irretrievably in love with Lily Dale. He had declared Ms passion in the most moving language a hundi-ed times j but he had decUried it only to him- self. He had written much poetry about Lily, but he kept his lines safe under double lock and key. When he gave the reins to his imagination, he flattered himself that he might win not only her but the world at large also by hisyerses ; but he would have perished rather than exhibit them to human eye. During the last ten weeks of his life at Guestwick, while he was [preparing for his career in London, he hung about Alliugton, walking over fre- quently and then walking back again ; bat all in vain. During these visits he wouKl sit in Mrs. Dale's drawing-room, speaking but little, and addicssiug himself usually to the mother ; but on each occasion, as he started on his long, hot walk, he resolved that he would say something by which Lily might know of Uis love. When he left for Loudon that something had not been said. He had not dreamed of asking her to be his wife. John Eames was about to begin the world with eighty pounds a year, and an allowance of twenty more from his mothers purse. He was well aware that with such an income he could not establish himself as a married man in London, and he also felt that the man who might be fortunate enough to win Lily fur his wife should be prepared to give her every soft luxury that the world could afford He knew well that he ought not to expect any assurance of Lily'a love ; but, nevertheless, he thought it possible that he might give 40 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. her an assurance of his love. It would probably be in vain. He had no real hope, unless when he was in one of those poetic moods. He bad acknowledged to himself, in some indistinct waj^ that he was no more than a hobbledehoy, awkward, silent, un- gainly, with a face unfinished, as it were, or unripe. All this he knew, and knew also that there were ApoUos in the world who would be only too ready to carry off Lily in their splendid cars. But not the less did he make up his mind that having loved her once, it behoved him^ as a true mau, to love her on to the end. One little word he bad said to ber when they parted, but it had been a wc»-d of friendship rather than of love. He had strayed out after her on to the lawn^ leaving Bell alone in the di'awing- room. Perhaps lily had understood something of the boy's feeling, and had wished to speak kindly to him at parting, or almost more than kindly. There is a silent love which womei^ recognize, and which in s(»iae silent way they acknowledge, — giving gracious but silent thanks for the respect which accom- panies it. ^ I have com» to say good-by, Lily," said Johnny Eames, follow- ing the girl down one of the patha " Good-by, John," said she, turning round. ** You know how sorry we are to lose you. But it's a great thing for you to be going up to Loikdon." " Well ; yes. I suppose it is. I'd sooner remain here^ though.*' " What t stay here, doing nothing t I am sure you would not.** ^ Of course, I should like to do something. I mean ^" ^ You mean that it is painful to pari with old friends ; and Fm sure that we all feel that at parting with you. But youll have a holiday sometimes, and then we shall see you.*^ *^ Yes ; of course, I shall see you then. I think, Lily, I shall care more about seeing you than anybody.** ^ Oh^ no» John. There'll be your own mother and sister." MRS. ROPER'S BOARDING-HOUSE. 41 "Yes; therell be mother and Mary, of course. But I will come over here the veiy first day, — ^that is, if you'll care to see me I " " We shall care to see you very much. You know that. And — dear John, I do hope you'll be happy." There was a tone in her voice as she spoke which almost upset him ; or, I should rather say, which almost put him up upon his legs and made him speak ; but its ultimate effect was less power- ful " Do you ? " said he,, as he held her hand for a few happy seconda " And I*m sure I hope you'll always be happy. Good- by, Idly." Then he left her, returning to the house, and she con- tinued her walk, wandering dp wn among the trees in the shrubbery, and not showing herself for the next half-hour. How many girls have some such lover as that, — ^a lover who says no more to them than Johnny Eames then said to Lily Dale, who never says more than that % And yet when, in after years, they count over the names of all who have loved them, the name of that awkward youth is never forgotten. That farewell had been spoken nearly two years since, and Lily Dale was then seventeen^ Since that time,. Jo^n Eames had been home once, and during his month's holidays had often visited Allington. But he had never improved upon that occasion of which I have told. It had seemed to him that Lily was colder to him than in old days, and he had become, if anything, more shy in his ways with her. He was to return to Guestwick again during this autumn ; but, to tell honestly the truth in the matter, Lily Dale did not think or care very much for his coming. Girls of nineteen do not care for lovers of one-and-twenty, unless it be when the fruit has had the advantage of some forcing apparatus or southern wall. John Eames's love was still as hot as ever, having been sustained on poetry, and kept alive, perhaps, by some close confidence in the ears of a brother clerk ; but it is not to be supposed that during these two years he had been a melancholy lover. It might, per- haps^ have been better for him had his disposition led him to that 42 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON, line of life. Such, however, had not been the case. He had already abandoned the flute on which he had learned to sound three sad notes before he left Guestwick, and, after the flfth or sixth Sunday, he had relinquished his solitary walks along the towing-path of the Regent's Park Canal. To think of one*s al^s^At love is very sweet ; but it becomes monotonous after a mile or two of a towing-path, and t^e mind will turn away to Aunt Sally, the Cremome Gardens, and financial questions. I doubt whether any girl would be satisfied with her lover's mind if she knew the whole of it '* I say, Caudle, I wonder whether a fellow could get into a club ? " This proposition was made, on one of those Sunday walks, by John Eames to the friend of his bosom, a brother clerk, whose legitimate name was Cradell, and who was therefore called Caudle by his friends. " Get into a club 1 Fisher in our room belongs to a club." " That's only a chess-club. I mean a regular club." " One of the swell ones at the West End % " said Cradell, almost lost in admiration at tlie ambition of his friend. " I shouldn't want it to be particularly swell If a man isn't a swell, I don't see what he gets by going among those who are. But it is so uncommon slow at Mother Roper's." Now Mrs. Roper was a respectable lady, who kept a boarding-house in Bur- ton Crescent, and to whom Mrs. Eames had been strongly recom- mended when she was desirous of finding a specially safe domicile for her son. For the first year of his life in London John Eames had lived alone in lodgings ; but that had resulted in discomfort, solitude, and, alas ! in some amount of debt, which had come heavily on the poor widow. Now, for the second year, some safer mode- of life was necessary. She had learned that Mrs. Cradell, the widow of a barrister, who had also succeeded in getting her son into the Income-tax Office, had placed him in charge of Mrs. Roper ; and she, with many injunctions to that motherly woman, submitted her own boy to the same custody. MRS. ROFERS BOARDING-HOUSE. 43 '^ And about going to church ? '' Mrs. Eanies had said to Mrs. I^per. " I dou't suppose I can look after that, ma'am," Mrs. Roper had answered, conscientiously. " Youn^ gentlemen choose mostly their own churches." " But they do go % '* asked the mother, very anxious in her heart as to this new life in which her boy was to be left to follow f in 80 many things the guidance *of his own lights. " They who have been brought up steady do so, mostly." "He has been brought up steady, Mrs. Roper. He h^s, indeed. And you won't give him a latch-key % " "Well, they always do ask for it." " But he won*t insist, if you tell him that I had mther that he shouldn't have one." Mrs. Roper promised accordingly, and Johnny Eames was left under her charge. He did ask for the latch-key, and Mrs. Roper answered as she was bidden. But he asked again, having been sophisticated by the philosophy of Cradell, and then Mrs. Roper handed him the key. She was a woman who plumed herself on being as good as her word, not understanding thit any one could justly demand from her more than that. She gave Johnny Eames the key, as doubtless she had intended to do ; for Mrs. Roper knew the world, and understood that young men without latch- keys would not remain with her. " I thought you didn't seem to find it so dull since Amelia came home," said Cradell. " Amelia % What's Amelia to me ? I have told you everything Cradell, and yet you can talk to me about Amelia Roper ! " " Come now, Johnny ." He had always been called Johnny, and the name had gone with him to his office. Even Amelia Roper had called him Johnny on more than one occasion before this. " You were as sweet to her the other night as though there were no such person as L. D. in existence." John Eames turned away and shook his head. Nevertheless, the words of his friend were grateful to him. The character of a. Don Juan was not 44 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON, unpleasant to his imagination, and he liked to think that he might amuse Amelia Roper with a passing word, though his heart was true to Lilian Dale. In truth, however, many more of the passing words had been spoken bj the fair Amelia than by him. Mrs. Roper had been quite as good as her word when she told Mrs. Eames that her household was composed of herself, of a son who was in an attorney's office, of an ancient maiden cousin, named Miss Spruce, who lodged with her, and of Mr. Cradell. The divine Amelia had not then been living with her, and the nature of the statement which she was making by no means com- pelled her to inform Mrs. Eames that the young lady would pro- bably return home in ^he following winter. A Mr. and Mrs. Lupex had also joined the family lately, and Mrs. Roper's house was now supposed to be full. And it must be acknowledged that Johnny Eames had, in cer- tain unguarded moments, confided to Cradell the secret of a second weaker passion for Amelia. *' She is a fine girl, — a deuced fine girl ! " Johnny Eames had said, using a style of language which he had learned since he left Guestwick and AUington. Mr. Cradell, also, was an admirer of the fair sex ; and, alas ! that I should say so, Mrs. Lupex, at the present moment, was the object of his admiration. Not that he entertained the slightest idea of wronging Mr. Lupex, — a man who was a scene-psdnter, and knew the world. Mr. Cradell admired Mrs. Lupex as a connoisseur, not simply as a man. "By heavens! Johnny, what a figure that woman has ! ^ he said, one morning, as they were walking to their office. " Yes j she stands well on her pins." " I should think she did. If I understand anything of form," said Cradell, '' that woman is nearly perfect. What a torso she has I " From which expression, and from the fact that Mrs. Lupex depended greatly upon her stays and crinoline for such figure as she succeeded in displaying, it may, perhaps, be understood that Mr. Cradell did not ^mderstand much about form. MRS, ROPEIVS BOARDING-HOUSE. 43 "It seems to me that her nose isn't quite straight/' said Johnny Eames. Now, it undoubtedly was the fact that the nose on Mrs. Lupex's face was a little awzy. It was a long, thin nose, which, as it progressed forward into the air, certainly had a pre- ponderating bias towards the left side. *' I care more for figure than face," said Cradell. " But Mrs. Lupex has fine eyes — very fine eyes." " And knows how to use them, too," said Johnny. " Why shouldn't she ? And then she has lovely hair." '^ Only she never brushes it in the morning." [^/' Do you know, I like that kind of deshabille," said CradelL " Too much care always betrays itself." "But a woman should be tidy." ** What a word to apply to such a creature as Mrs. Lupex ! I call her a splendid woman. And how well she was got up last night. Do you know, I've an idea that Lupex treats her very badly. She said a word or two to me yesterday that ,*' and then he paused. There are some confidences which a man does not share even with his dearest friend. " I rather fancy it's quite the other way," said Eames. " How the other way 1 " '' That Lupex has quite as much as he likes of Mrs. L. The sound of her voice sometimes makes me shake in my shoes, I know." " I like a woman with spirit," said Cradell. « Oh, so do I. But one may have too much of a good thing. Amelia did tell me ; — only you won't mention it," " Of course I won't." " She told me that Lupex sometimes was obliged to run away from her. He goes down to the theatre, and remains there two or three days at a time. Then she goes to fetch him, and there is no en4 of a row in the house." " The foot is, he drinks," said CradelL " By George, I pity a woman whose husband drinks — and such a woman as that, too ! " " Tak§ care, old. fellow, or you'll find ypuirself in a scrape." 46 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. " I know what I'm at. Lord bless you, I'm not going to lose my bend because I see a fine woman." " Or your heart either ? " ** Oh, heart ! There's nothing of that kind of thing about me. I regard a woman as a picture or a statue. I dare say I sliall marry some day, because men do ; but I've no idea of losing my- self about a woman." ** I'd lose myself ten times over for " " L. D.,'' said Oradell. " That I would. And yet I know I shall never have her. I*m a jolly, laughing sort of fellow ; and yet, do you know Caudle, when that girl marries, it will be all up with me. It will, indeed." ** Do you mean that you'll out your throat % " " No ; I shan't do that. I shan't do anything of that sort ; and yet it will be all up with me." " You are going down there in October ; — why don't you ask her to have you?" " With ninety pounds a year ! " His grateful country had twice increased his salary at the rate of five pounds each year. "With ninety pounds a year, and twenty allowed me by my mother ! " " She could wait, I suppose. I should ask her, and no mistake. If one is to love a girl, it's no good one going on in that way ! " " It isn't much good, certainly," said Johnny Eames. And then they reached the door of the Income-tax Office, and each went away to his own desk. From this little dialogue, it may be imagined that though Mrs. Roper was as good as her word, she was not exactly the woman whom Mrs. Eames would have wished to select as a protecting angel for her son. But the truth I take to be this, that protect- ing angels for widows' sons, at forty-eight pounds a year, paid quarterly, are not to be found veiy readily in London. Mrs. Roper was not worse than others of her class. She would much have preferred lodgers who were respectable to those who were MRS. ROPERS BOARDING-HOUSE, 47 not so, — if she could only have found respectable lodgers as she wanted them. Mr. and Mrs. Lupex hardly came under that denomination ; and when she gave them up her big front bedroom at a hundred a year, she knew she was doing wrong. And she was troubled, too, about her own daughter Amelia, who was already over thirty years of age. Amelia was a veiy clever young womau, who had been, if the truth must be told, first young lady at a millinery establishment in Manchester. Mrs. Roper knew that Mrs. £ames and Mrs. Cradell would not wish their sons to associate with her daughter. But what could she do % She could ^not refuse the shelter of her own house to her own child, and yet her heart misgave her when she saw Amelia flirting with young Eames. " I wish, Amelia, you wouldn't have so much to say to that young man." "Laws, mother." "So I do. If you go on like that, you'll put me out of both my lodgers." " Go on like what, mother ? If a gentleman speaks to me, I suppose I'm to answer him ? I know how to behave myself, I believe.'' And then she gave her head a toss. Whereupon her mother was silent ; for her mother was afraid of her. CHAPTER V. ABOUT L. D. Apollo Cbosbie left London for Allington. on the 31st ef August^ intending to stay there four weeks, with the declared intention.of recruiting his strength by an absence of two months from official cares, and with no fixed purpose as to his destiny 'for the last of those two months. Offers of hospitality had been made to him by the dozen. Lady Hartletop's doors, in Shropshire, were open to him, if he chose to enter them. . He had been infvited by the Countess de Courcy to join her suite at Courcy Castla His special friend, Montgomerie Dobbar had a place in Scotland, and then there was a yachting party by which he was much wanted. But Mr. Crosbie had as yet knocked himself down to none of these biddings, having before him when he left Lqndon no . other fixed engagement than that which took him to Allington. On the first of October we shall also find ourselves at Allington in company with Johnny Eames; and Apollo Croslne will still be there, — by no means to the comfort of our friend from the Income- tax Office. Johnny Eames cannot be called unlucky in that matter of his annual holiday, seeing that he was allowed to leave London in October, a month during which few chose to own that they remain in town. For myself, I always regard May as the best month for holiday-making ; but then no Londoner cares to be absent in May. Young Eames, though he lived in Burton Crescent, and had as yet no connection with the West End, had already learned his lesson in this respect. " Those fellows in the big room want me to take ') ABOUT L. D. 49 May/' he had said to his friend CradelL '^ They must think Pm uncommon green." '' It's too bady" said Cradell <' A man 8houldn*t be asked to take his leaye in May. I never did, and what's more, I never will, rd go to the Board first.'* Eames had escaped this evil without going to the Board, and iiad succeeded in obtaining for himself for his own holiday that month of October, which, of all months, is perhaps the most highly esteemed for holiday purposes. ^' I shall go down by the maU- train to-morrow night," he said to Amelia Roper, on the evening before his departure. At that moment he was sitting alone with Amelia in Mrs. Roper*s back drawing-room. In the front room Cradell was talking to Mrs. Lupex ; but as Miss Spruce was with them, it may be presumed that Mr. Lupex need have had no causa for jealousy. '' Yes," said Amelia ; '' I know how great is your haate to get down to that fascinating spot. 1 could not expect that you would lose one single hour in hurrying away from Burton Crescent." Amelia Roper was a tall, well-grown young woman, with dark hair and dark eyes ; — not handsome, for her nose was thick, and the lower part of her face was heavy, but yet not without some feminine attractions. Her eyes were bright ; but then, also, they were mischievous. She conld talk fluently enough ; but then, also, she could scold. She could assume sometimes the plumage of a dove ; but then again she could occasionally ruffle her feathers like an angiy kite. I am quite prepared to acknowledge that John Eames should have kept himself clear of Amelia Roper ; but then young men so frequently do those things which they should not do ! " After twelve months up here in London one is glad to get away to one's own friends," said Johnny. '' Your own friends, Mr. Eames ! What sort of friends ) Do you suppose I don't know 1 '* " Well, no. 1 don't think you do know." VOL. I. J5 50 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. " E. D. ! *' said Atnelia, showing that Lily had been spoken of ^mong people who should never have been allowed to hear her name. But perhaps, after all, no more than those two initials were known in Burton Crescent. From the tone which was now used in naming them, it was sufficiently manifest that Amelia con- sidered herself to be wronged by their very existence. " L. S. D./' said Johnny, attempting the line of a witty, gay young spendrift. " Tliaf s my love ; pounds, shillings, and pence ; and a very coy mistress she is." " Nonsense, sir. Don't talk to me in that way. As if I didift know where your heart was. What right had you to speak to me if you had an L. D. down in the country ? " It should be here declared on behalf of poor John Eames that he had not e\'er spoken to Amelia — he had not spoken to her m any such phrase as her words seemed to imply. But then he had written to her a- fatal note of which we will ' speak further before long, and that perhaps was quite as bad, — ox* worse. '' Ha, ha, ha-! " laughed Johnny. But the laugh was assumed, and not assumed with ease. " Yes, sir ; it's a laughing matter to you, I daresay. It is very easy for a man to laugh under such circumstances; — that is to say, if he is perfectly heartless, — if he's got a stone inside of his bosom instead of flesh and blood. Some men are made of stone, I know, and are troubled with no feelings.'* "What is it you want me to say? You pretend to know all about it, and it wouldn't be civil in me to contradict you." " What is it I want f You know very well what I want ; or rather, I don't want anything. , What is it to me f * It is nothing to me about L. D. You can go down to Allington and do what you like for me. Only I hate such ways." " What ways, Amelia ? " " What ways ! Now, look here, Johnny : I'm not going to make a fool of myself for any 'man. When I came home here three months ago — and I wish I never had;" — she paused here a moment, waiting for a word of tenderness; but as the word of ABOUT ju d: 51. tenderness did not come» she went on — '^ but 'when I did come home, I didn't think there was a man in all London could make me care for him, — ^that I didn't. And now you're going away, without so much as hardly saying a word to me." And then she brought out her handkerchief. ^'What am I to say, when you keep on scolding me all the time ? " "Scolding you! — And me too! No, Johnny, I ain't scolding 70Q, and don't mean to. If it's to be all over between us, say the vwxi, and Fll take myself away out of the house before you come back again. I've had no secrets from you. I can go back to my business in Manchester, though it is beneath my birth, and not what I've been used to. If L. D. is more to you than I am, I won't stand in your way. Only say the word." L D. was more to him than Amelia Roper, — ten times more to him. L. D. would have been everything to him, and Amelia Roper was worse than nothing. He felt all this at the moment, and struggled hard to collect an amount of courage that would make him free. "Say the word," said she, rising on her feet before him, " and all between you and me shall be over. I have got your promise, bat rd scorn to take advantage. If Amelia hasn't got your heart, she'd despise to take your hand. Only I must have an answer." It would seem that an easy way of escape was offered to him ; but the lady probably knew that the way as offered by her was not easj to such an one as. John- Eames. " Amelia," he said, still keeping his seat. "Well, sir?" "You know Hove you." "And about L. D.r' *' If you choose to believe all the nonsense that Gradell puts into four head, I can't help it. If you like to make yourself jealotis ibout two letters, it isn't my fault." ^^And you love me ? " said;'she. E 2 52 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. ** Of course I love you.*' And then, upon hearing these words, Amelia threw herself into his arms. As the folding doors between the two rooms were not closed, and as Miss Spruce was sitting in her easy chair immediately opposite to them, it was probable that she saw what passed. But Miss Spruce was a taciturn old lady, not easily excited to any show of surprise or admiration ; and as she had lived with Mrs. Roper for the last twelve years, she was probably well acquainted with her daughter's ways. '* You'll be true to me ? " said Amelia^ during the moment of that embrace — " true to me for ever ? " '* Oh, yes ; that's a matter of course," said John Eames. And then she liberated him ; and the two strolled into the front sitting- room. " I declare, Mr. Eames," said Mrs. Lupex, " I'm glad you've come. Here's Mr. Cradell does say such queer things." " Queer things ! " said Cradell. " Now, Miss Spruce, I appeal to you — Have I said any queer things ? " " If you did, sir, I didn't notice them," said Miss Spruce. *' I noticed them, then," said Mrs. Lupex. '^ An unmarried man like Mr. Cradell has no business to know whether a married lady wears a cap or her own hair — has he, Mr. Eames ? " " I don*t think I ever know," said Johnny, not intending any sarcasm on Mrs. Lupex. " I dare say not, sir,"^said the lady. " We all know where yotu attention is riveted. If you were' to wear a cap, my dear, somei body would see the difiference very soon — wouldn't they, Mitf Spruce 1 " " I dare say they would," said Miss Spruce. " If I could look as nice in a cap as you do, Mrs. Lupex, I'd wear one to-morrow," said Amelia, who did not wish to quarrel witl the married lady at the present moment. There were occasionfi (A however, on which Mrs. Lupex and Miss Roper were by no log^iil BO gracious to each other. « Does Lupex like caps 1 " asked Cradell, ABOUT L. D. i^ '^If I wore a plumed helmet on my head, it's mj belief he wouldn't know the difference ; nor jet if I had got no head at all. That's what comes of getting married. If you'll take my advice, Miss Roper, you'll stay as you are ; even though somebody should break his heart about it. Wouldn't you, Miss Spruce ? " " Oh, as for" me, I'm an old woman, you know," said Miss Spruce, which was certainly true. " I don't see what any woman gets by marrying," continued Mrs. Lupez. *' But a man gains everything. He don't know how to live, unless he*s got a woman to help him." " But is love to go for nothing % " said CradelL " Oh, love ! I don't believe in love. I suppose I thought I loved once, but what did it come to after all ? Now, there's Mr. Eames -—we all know he's in love." ^It comes natural to me, Mrs. Lupex. I was born so," said Johnny. ''And there's Miss Roper — one never ought to speak free about a lady, but perhaps she's in love too." "Speak for yourself, Mrs. Lupex," said Amelia. " There's no harm in saying that, is there 1 I'm sure, if you ain't, you're very hard-hearted ; for, if ever there was a true lover, I believe you've got one of your own. My ! — if there's not Lupex's step on the stair ? What can bring him home at this hour ? If he's been drinking, he'll come home as cross as anything." Then Mr. Lupex entered the room, and the pleasantness of the party was destroyed. It may be said that neither Mrs. Cradell nor Mrs. Eames would ha?e placed their sons in Burton Crescent if they had known the dangers into which the young men would fall. Each, it must be acknowledged, was imprudent ; but each clearly saw the impru- dence of the other. Not a week before this, Cradell had seriously warned his friend against the arts of Miss Roper. " By George, Johnny, youll get yourself entangled with that girl." '*One always has to go through that sort of thing," said Johnnv. -5'4 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON, " Yes ; bui those who go through too much of it never get out again. Where would you be if she got a written promise of marriage from you 1 " Poor Johuny did not answer this immediately, for in very truth Amelia Eoper had such a document In her possession. '' Where should I be 1 " said Jia . '' Among the breaches of promise, I suppose." ''Either that, or else amoug'>the yictims of matrimony. My belief of you is, that if you gave such a promise, you*d carry it out." " Perhaps I should," said Johnny ; " but I don't know. It's a matter of doubt what a man ought to do in such a case." " But there's been nothing of that kind yet 1 " " Oh dear, no ! " " If I was you, Johnny, I'd keep, away from her. It's very good fun, of course, that sort of thing ; but it is so uncommon dangerous 1 Where would you be now with such a girl as that for your wife ?" ^ Such had been the caution given by Cradell to his friend. And now, just as he was starting for AUington, Eames, returned the compliment. They had gone together to the Great Western station at Paddington, and Johnny tendered his advice as they were walking together up and down the platform. " I say, Caudle, old boy, you'll find yourself in trouble with that Mrs. Lupex, if you don't take care of yourself." '' But I shall take care of myself There's nothing so safe as a little nonsense with a married woman. Of course, it mean's nothing, you know, between her and me." ''I don't suppose it does mean anything. But she's always talking about Lupex being jealous ; and if he was to cut up rough, you wouldn't find it pleasant." Cradell, however, seemed to think that there was no danger. His little affair with Mrs. Lupex was quite platonic and safe. As for doing any real harm, his principles, as he assured his friend, were too high. Mrs. Lupex was a woman of talent, whom no one ABOUT L. D. 55 seemed to understand, and, therefore, he had taken some pleasure in studying her character. It was merely a study of character, and nothing more. Then the friends parted, and Eames was carried away hy the night mail- train down to Guestwick. How his mother was up to receive him at four o'clock in the morning, how her maternal heart was rejoicing at seeing the im- provement in his gait, and the manliness of appearance imparted to him by his whiskers, I need not describe at length. Many of the attributes of a hobbledehoy had fallen from him, and even Lily Dale might qq^ ^r6b(lb\y' acknowledge that he was no longer a boy. AH which might be',):^arded as good, if only in putting off childish tkiugs he hud tak^u up things which were better than childish. On the very first day of his arrival he made his way over to Allington. He did not walk on this occasion as he had used to do in the old happy days. He had an idea that it might not be well for him to go into Mrs. Dale's drawing-room with tbe dust of the road on his boots, and the heat of the day on his brow. So he borrowed a horse and rode over, taking some pride in a pair of spurs vhich he had bought in Piccadilly, and in his kid gloves, which were brought out new for the occasion. Alas, alas ! 1 fear that those two years in London have not improved John Eauies ; and yet I have to acknowledge that John Eiimes is one of tlie heroes of my story. On entering Mrs. Dale's drawing-room 'he found Mrs. Dale and her eldest daughter. Lily at the moment was not there, and as he shook hands with the other t^o, of course, he asked for her. "She is only in the garden," said Bell. "She will be here directly." " She has walked across to the Great House with Mr. Crosbie," flaid Mrs. Dale ; " but she is not goiug to remain. She will be 80 glad to see you, John ! We all expected you to-day." " Did you 1 " said Johnny, whose heart had been plunged into cold water at the mention of Mr. Crosbie's name. He had been S6 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. thinking of Lilian Dale ever since his friend had left him on the railway platform ; and, as I beg to assure- all ladies who may read my tale, the truth of his love for Lily had moulted no feather through that unholy liaison between him and Miss Roper. I fear that I shall be disbelieved in this ; but it was so. His heart was and ever had been true to Lilian, although he had allowed himself to be talked into declarations of affection by such a creature as Amelia Roper. He had been thinking of his meeting with Lily all the night and throughout the morning, and now he heard that she was walking alone about the gardens with a strange gentleman. Thai Mr. Crosbie was very grand and very fiafihionable he had heard, but he knew no more of bim. Why should Mr. Crosbie be allowed to walk with Lily Dale? And why should Mra Dale mention the circumstance as though it were quite a thing of course? Such mystery as there was in this was solved very quickly. ^' I'm sure Lily won't object to my telling such a dear Mend as you what has happened," said Mrs. Dale. '^She is engaged to be married to Mr, Crosbie." The water into which Johnny's heart had been plunged now closed over his head and left him speechless^ Lily Dale was en^ gaged to be married to Mr. Crosbie I He knew that he should have spoken when he heard the tidinga He knew that the moments of silence as they passed by told his secret to the two women before him, — ^that se(»ret which it would now behove hin» to conceal from all the world. But yet he could not speak. *' We are all very well pleased at the match,'^ said Mrs» Dale,, wishing to spare him. "Nothing can be nicer than Mr. Ch)sbie/* said Bell. "We have often talked about you, and he will be so happy to> know you." '' He woQ^t know much about me,"^ said Johnny \ and even in speaking these few senseless words — ^words which he uttered because it was necessary that he should say something — ^the tone of hia voice was altered. He would have given the world to have ABOUT L. D, 57 been master of himself at this moment, but he felt that he was utterly vanquished. '' There is Lily coming across the lawn," said Mrs. Dale. '' Then I'd better go/' said Eames. ^' Don't say anything about it ; pray don't." And then, without waiting for another word, he escaped out of the drawing-room. CHAPTER VI. BEAUTIFUL DATS. I AM well aware that I have not as yet given any description of Bell and Lilian Dale, and equally well aware that the longer the doing so is postponed the greater the difficulty becomes. I wish it could be understood without any description that they were two pretty, fair-haired girls, of whom Bell was the tallest and the prettiest, whereas Lily was almost as pretty as her sister, and perhaps was more attractive. They were fair-haired girls, very like each other, of whom I have before my mind's eye a distinct portrait, which I fear I shall not be able to draw in any such manner as will make it distinct to others. They were something below the usual height, being slight and slender in all their proportions. Lily was the shorter of the two, but the difference . was so trifling that it was hardly remembered unless the two were together. And when I said that Bell was the prettier, I should, perhaps, have spoken more justly had I simply declared that her features were more regular than her sister's. The two girls were very fair, so that the soft tint of colour which relieved the whiteness of -their complexion was rather acknowledged than distinctly seen. It was there, telling its own take of healthj as its absence would have told a tale of present or coming sickness ; and yet nobody could ever talk about the colour in their cheeks. The hair of the two girls was so alike in hue and texture, that no one, not even their mother, could say that there was a difierence. It was not flaxen hair, and yet it was very light. Nor did it approach to aubum ; and yet there ran through it ,a BEAUTIFUL DAYS, 59 golden tint that gave it a distinct brightness of its own. But with Bell it was more plentiful than with Lily, and therefore Lily would always talk of her own scanty locks, and tell how beautiful were those belonging to her sister. Nevertheless Lily's head was quite as lovely as her sister's \ for its form was perfect, and the simple braids in which they both wore their hair did not require any great exuberance in quantity. Their eyes were brightly blue ; but Bell's were long, and soft, and tender, often hardly daring to raise themselves to your face ; while those of Lily were rounder, but brighter, and seldom kept by any want of courage from fixing themselves where they pleased. And Lily's face was perhaps less oval in its form — less perfectly oval — than her sister's. The shape of the forehead was, I think, «the same, but with Bell the chin was something more slender and delicate. But Bell's chin was unmarked, whereas on her sister^s there was a dimple which amply compensated for any other deficiency in its beauty. Bell's teeth were more even, than her sister's \ but then she showed her teeth more frequently. Her hps were thinner, and, as I cannot but think, less expressive. Her. nose was decidedly more regular in its beauty, for Lily's nose was.soimewhat broader than it should have been. It may, therefore, be understood that Bell would be con- sidered the beauty by the family. But there was, perhaps, more in the gene^ impression made by these girls, and in the whole tone of their appearance,- than in the absolute loveliness of their features or the grace of their figures. ' There was about them a dignity of demeanour devoid of all stiffness or pride, and a maidenly modesty which gave itself no airs. In them was always apparent that sense of security which women should receive from an unconscious dependence on their own mingled purity and weakness. These two girls were never afraid of men, — never looked as though they were so afraid. And I may say that they had little cause for that kind of fear to which I allude. It might be the lot of either of them to be ill- used by a man, but it was hardly possible that either of them should ever be insulted by one. Lily, as may, perhaps,, have been 6o THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. already seen^ oould be fall of play, but in her play she never bo carried herself that any one could forget what was due to her. And now Lily Dale was engaged to be married, and the days of her playfulness were over. It sounds sad, this sentence against her, but I fear that it must be regarded as true. And when I think that it is true, — when I see that the sportiveness and kitten- like gambols of girlhood should be over, and generally are over, when a girl has given her troth, it becomes a matter of regret to me that the feminine world should be in such a hurxy after matri- mony. I have, however, no remedy to offer for the evil ; and indeed, am aware that the evil, if there be an evil, is not well expressed in the words I have used. The hurry is not for matri- mony, but for love. Then, the love once attained, matrimony seizes it for its own, and the evil is accomplished. And Lily Dale was engaged to be married to Adolphus Orosbie, — to Apollo Crosbie, as she still called him, confiding her Httle joke to his own ears. And to her he was an Apollo, as a man who is loved should be to the girl who loves him. He was handsome, graceful, clever, self-confident, and always cheerful when she asked him to be cheerful. But he had also his more serious moments, and could talk to her of serious matters. He would read to her, and explain to her things which had hitherto been too hard for her young intelligence. His voice, too, was pleasant, and well under command. It could be pathetic if pathos were required, or ring with laughter as merry as her own. Was not such a man fit to be an Apollo to such a girl, when once the girl had acknow- ledged to herself that she loved him % She had acknowledged it to herself, and had acknowledged it to him, — as the reader will perhaps say without much delay. ' But the courtship had so been carried on that no delay had been needed. All the world had smiled upon it. When Mr. Crosbie had first come among them at Allington, as Bernard's guest, during those few days of his early visit, it had seemed as though Bell had been chiefly noticed by him. And Bell in her own quiet way had accepted his admiration, saying nothing of it and thinking BEAUTIFUL DAYS. 6i bnt very little. Lily was heart-free at the time, and had ever been sa No first shadow from Love's wing had as yet been thrown across the pure tablets of her bosom. With Bell it was not so, — not so in absolute strictness. Bell's story, too, must be told, but not on this page. But before Crosbie had come among them, it was a thing fixed in her mind that such love as she had felt must be overcome and annihilated. We may say that it had been over- come and annihilated, and that she would have sinned in no way had she listeued to vows from this new Apollo. It is almost sad to think that such a man might have had the love of either of such girls, but I fear that I must acknowledge that it was so. Apollo, in the plenitude of his power, soon changed his mind ; and before the end of his first visit, had transferred the distant homage which he was then paying from the elder td the younger sister. He afterwards returned, as the squire's guest, for a longer sojourn among them, and at the end of the first month had already been accepted as Lily's future husband. It was beautiful to see how Bell changed in her mood towards Crosbie and towards her sister as soon as she perceived how the afiair was going. She was not long in perceiving it, having caught .the first glimpses of the idea on that evening when they both dined at the Great House, leaving their mother alone to eat or to neglect the peas. For some six or seven weeks Crosbie had been gone, and during that time Bell had been much more open in speaking of him than her sister. She had been present when Crosbie had bid them good-by, and had listened to his eagerness as he declared to Lily that he should soon be back again at Ailing- ton. Lily had takeir this very quietly, as though it had not belonged at all to herself ; but BeU had seen something of the truth, and, believing in Crosbie as an earnest, honest man, had spoken kind words of him, fostering any little aptitude for love which might already have formed itself in Lily's bosom. " But he is such an Apollo, you know," LOy had said. '' He is a gentleman ; I can see that." *< Oh, yes ; a man can't be an Apollo unless he's a gentleman." 62 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON, " And he's very clever." '' I suppose he is clever." There was nothing more« said about his being a mere clerk. Indeed, Lily had chan^d h^r mind .on that subject. Johnny Eames was a mere clerk ;v whereas Crosbie, if he was to be called a clerk at all, was a derk of some very special denomination. There may be a great difference between one clerk and another ! ^ Clerk of the Council and a parish clerk are very different persons. Lily had got some such idea as this into her head as she attempted inlier own mind to rescue Mr. Crosbie &om the lower orders of the Government service. '' I wish he were not coming,** Mrs. Dale had said to her eldest daughter. " I think you are wrong, mamma." " But if she should become fond of him, and then " " Lily will never become really fond of any man till he shall have given her proper reason. And if he admires her, why should they not come together 1 " " But she is so young. Bell.*' '* She is nineteen ; ' and if they were engaged, perhaps, they might wait for a year or so. But it'-s no good talking in that way, mamma. If you were to tell Lily not to give him encouragement, she would not speak to him.'* " I should not think of interfering." '* No, mamma ; and therefore it must take its course. For myself, I like Mr. Crosbie very much." " So do I, my dear." '' And so does my uncle. I wouldn't have Lily take a lover of my uncle's choosing." ' " I should hope not." ** But it must be considered a good thing if she happens to choose one of his liking." In this way the matter had been talked over between the mother and her elder daughter. Then Mr. Crosbie had come ; and before the end of the first month his dedared- admiration for Lily had proved the correctness of her sister's foresight. And BEAUTIFUL DAYS, tj^ daring that short courtship all had gone w^ with the lovers. The squire from the first had declared himself satisfied with the match, informing Mrs. Dale, in his cold manner, tfant Mr. Crosbie was a gentleman with an income sufficient for matrimony. " It would be close enough in London," Mrs. Dale had said. " He has more than my brother had when he married," said the squire. " If he will only make her as happy as your brother made me, — while it lasted ! " said Mrs. Dale, as she turned away her &ce to conceal a tear that was coming. And then there was nothing more said about' it between the squire and his sister-in-law. The squire spoke no word as to assistance in money matters, — did not even suggest that he would lend a hand to the young people at starting, as an uncle in such a position might surely have done. It may well be conceived that Mrs. Dale ' herself said nothing on the subject. And, indeed, it may be conceived, also, that the squire, let his intentions be what they might, would not divulge them to Mrs. Dale. This was uncomfortable^ but the position was one that was well understood between them. Bernard Dale was still at AUington, and had remained there through the period of Crosbie 's absence. Whatever words Mrs. Dale might choose to speak on the matter would probably be spoken to him ; but, then, Bernard could be quite as close as his uncle. When Crosbie returned, he and Bernard had, of course, lived much together ; and, as was natural, there came to be close discussion between them as to the two girls, when Crosbie allowed it to be understood that his liking for Lily was becoming strong. " You know, I suppose, that my uncle wishes me to marry the elder one," Bernard had said. *' I have guessed as much.*' " And I suppose the match will come oflF. She's a pretty girl, and as good as gold." "Yes, she is." " I don't pretend to be very much in love with her. It's not my way, you know. But, some of these days, I. shall ask' her to 64 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. have me, and I suppose it'll all go right. The goyemor has dis- tinctly promised to allow me eight hundred a year off the estate, and to take us in for three months every year if we wish it. I told him simply that I couldn't do it for less, and he a^^ed with me." " You and he got on very well together." " Oh, yes ! There's never been any fal-lal between us about love, and duty^ and all that I think we understand each other, and that's everything. He knows the comfort of standing well with the heir, and I know the comfort of standing well with the owner." It must be admitted, I think, that there was a great deal of sound, common sense about Bernard Dale. *' What will he do for the younger sister? " asked Crosbie ; and, as he asked the important question, a close observer might have perceived that there was some slight tremor in his voice. '' Ah 1 that's more than I can tell you. If I were you, I shoiild ask him. The governor is a plain man, and likes plain business." " I suppose you couldn't ask him ? " ^' No ; I don't think I could. It is my belief that he will not let her go by any means empty-handed." " Well, I should suppose not.*' " But remember this, Crosbie, — I can say nothing to you on which you are to depend. Lily, also, is as good as gold ; and, as you seem to be fond of her, I should ask the governor, if I were you, in so many words, what he intends to do. Of course, it's against my interest, for every shilling he gives Lily will ultimately come out of my pocket. But I'm not the man to care about that, as you know." What might be Crosbie's knowledge on this subject we will not here inquire ; but we may say that it would have mattered very little to him out of whose pocket the money came, so long as it went into his own. When he felt quite sure of Lily^ — Shaving, in fact, received Lily's permission to speak to her uncle, and Lily's promise that she would herself speak to her mother, — he did tell the squire what was his intention. This he did in an open, manly BEAUTIFUL DAYS. 65 way, as though he felt that m asking for muoh he also offered to give much. '^ I have nothmg to say against it,'^ said the squire. ^' And I have your permission to consider myself as engaged to her ? " " If you have hers and her mother's. Of course you are aware that I have no authority over her." "She would not marry without your sanction." ^ She is very good to think so much of her uncle," said the squire ; and his words as he spoke them sounded very cold in Crosbie's ears. After that Crosbie said nothing about money, having to confess to himself that he was afitdd to do so. '^ And what would be the use % " said he to himself, wishing to make excuses for what he felt to be weak in his own conduct. ** If he should refuse to give her a shilling I could not go back from it now." And then some ideas ran across his miud as to the injustice to which men are subjected in this matter of matrimony. A man has to declare himself before it is fitting that he should make any inquiry about a lady's money; and then, when he has declared himself^ any such inquiry is unavailing. Which consideration some- what cooled the ardour of his happiness. Lily Dale was very pretty, very nice, very refreshing in her innocence, her purity, and her quick intelligence. No amusement could be more deliciously amusing than that of making love to Lily Dale. Her way of flattering her lover without any intention of flattery on her part, had put Crosbie into a seventh heaven. In all his experience be had known nothing like it. " You may be sure of this," she had said, — "I shall love you with all my heart and all my strength." It was very nice ; — but then what were they to live upon 1 Could it be that he, Adolphus Crosbie, should settle down on the north side of the New Road, as a married man, with eight hundred a year 1 If indeed the squire would be as good to Lily as he had promised to be to Bell, then indeed things might be made to arrange themselves. But there was no such drawback on Lily's happiness. Her VOL. 1. F 66 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. ideas about money were rather vague, but they were very honest. She knew she had none of her own, but supposed it was a husband's duty to find what would be needful. She knew she had none of her own, and was therefore aware that she ought not to expect luxuries in the little household that was to be prepared for her. She hoped, for his sake, that her uncle might give some assistance, but was quite prepared to prove that she could be a good poot man's wife. In the old colloquies on such matters between her and her sister, she had always declared that some decent income should be considered as indispensable before love could be enter- tained. But eight hundred a year had been considered as doing much more than fulfilling this stipulation. Bell ha^ had high- flown notions as to the absolute glory of poverty. She had declared that income should not be considered at all. If she had loved a man, she could allow herself to be engaged to him, even though he had no income. Such had been their theories ; and as regarded money, Lily was quite contented with the way in which she had carried out her own. In these beautiful days there was nothing to check her happi- ness. Her mother and sister united in telling her that she had done well, — that she was happy in her choice, and justified in her love. On that first day, when she told her mother all, she had been made exquisitely blissful by the way in which her tidings had been received. " Oh ! mamma, I must tell you something,'' she said, coming up to her mother's bedroom, after a long ramble with Mr. Crosbie through those AUington fields. « Is it about Mr. Crosbie ] " '^ Yes, mamma." And then the rest had been said through the medium of warm embraces and happy tears rather than by words. As she sat in her mother's room, hiding her face on her mother's shoulders. Bell had come, and had knelt at her feet. " Dear Lily," she had said, "I am so glad." And then Lily remembered how she had, as it were, stolen her lover from her «ister, and she put her arms round Bell's neck and kissed her. BEAUTIFUL DAYS. 67 " I knew how it was going to be from the very first," said Bell. " Did I not, mamma I *' " Tm sure I didn't," said Lily. " I never thought such a thing was possible." "But we did, — mamma and I." ** Did you 1 " said LUy. " Bell told me that it was to be so/* said Mi-s. Dale. " But I could hardly bring myself at first to think that he was good enough for my darling." '' Oh, mamma ! you must not say that You must think that he is good enough for anything." *' I will think that he is very good." "Who could be better? And then, when you remember all that he is to give up for my sake ! — And what can I do for him in return % What have I got to give him 1 " Neither Mrs. Dale nor Bell could look at the matter in this light, thinking that Lily gave quite as much as she received. But they both declared that Crosbie was perfect, knowing that by such assurances only could they now administer to Lily's happiness; and Lily, between them, was made perfect in her happiness, re- ceiving all manner of encouragement in her love, and being nonrisbed in her passion by the sympathy and approval of her mother and sister. And then had come that visit from Johnny Eames. As the poor fellow marched out of the room, giving them no time to say farewell, Mrs. Dale and Bell looked at each other sadly ; but they were nnable to concoct any arrangement, for Lily had run across the lawn, and was already on the ground before the window. " Ab soon as we got to the end of the shrubbery there were uncle Christopher and Bernard close to us ; so I told Adolphus he might go on by himself." " And who do you think has been here % " said Bell. But Mrs. Dale said nothing. Had time been given to her to use her own judgment, nothing should have been said at that moment as to Johmiy'B viait. F 2 68 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. a Has anybody been- here since I went % Whoever it was didn't stay very long." . . " Poor Johnny Eames," said Bell. Then the colour came up into Lily's face, and she bethought herself in a moment that the old friend of her young days had loved her, that he, too, had had hopes as to his love, and that now he had heard tidings which would put an end to such hopes. She understood it all in a moment, but understood also that it was necessary that she should conceal such understanding. " Dear Johnny ! *' she said. " Why did he not wait for me ? " ** We told him you were out," said Mrs. Dale. " He will be here again before long, no doubt/* "And he knows ?*' " Yes ; I thought you would not object to my telling him." " No, mamma ; of course not. And he has gone back to Guest- wick % '/ There was no answer given to this question, nor were there any- further words then spoken about Johnny Eames. Each of these women understood exactly how the matter stood, and each knew that the others understood it. The young man was loved by them all, but not loved with that sprt of admiring affection which had been accorded to Mr. Crosbie. Johnny Eames could not have been accepted as a suitor by their pet. Mrs. Dale and Bell both felt that. And yet they loved him for his love, and for that distant, modest respect which had restrained him from any speech regarding it. Poor Johnny ! But he was young, — hardly as yet out of his hobbledehoyhood, — and he would easily recover this blow, remembering, and perhaps feeling to his advantage, some slight touch of its passing romance. It is thus women think of men who love young and love in vain. But Johnny Eames himself, as he rode back to Guestwick, forget- ful of his spurs, and with his gloves stuffed into his pocket, thought of the matter very differently. He had never promised to himself any success as to his passion for Lily, and had, indeed, always acknowledged that he could have no hope ; but now, that she was BEAUTIFUL DAYS. 69 actually promised to another man, and as good as married , he was not the less broken-hearted because his former hopes had not been high. He had never dared to speak to Lily of his love, but he was conscious that she knew it, and he did not now dare to stand before her as one convicted of having loved in vain. And then, as he rode back, he thought also of his other love, not with many of those pleasant thoughts which Lotharios and Don Juans may be presumed t^ enjoy when they coritemplate their successes. " I suppose I shall marry her, and therell be an end of me,'' he said to himself, as he remembered a short note which he had once written to her in his madness. There had been a little supper at Mrs. Roper's, and Mrs. Lupex and Amelia had made the punch. After supper, he had been by some accident alone with Amelia in the dining-parlour ; and when, warmed by the generous god, he had declared his passion, she had shaken her head mournfully, and had fled from him to some upper region, absolutely refusing his proffered embrace. But on the same night, before his head had found its pillow, a note had come to him, half repentant, half affectionate, half repellent, — " If, indeed, he would swear to her that his love was honest and manly, then, indeed, she might even yet, see him through the chink of the door- way with the purport of telling him that he was forgiven." Whereupon, a per- fidious pencil being near to his hand, he had written the requisite words. " My only object in life is to call you my own for ever.'* Amelia had her misgivings whether such a promise, in order that it might be used as legal evidence, should not have been written in ink. It was a painful doubt ; but nevertheless she was as good as her word, and saw him through the chink, forgiving him for his impetuosity in the parlour with, perhaps, more clemency than a mere pardon required. " By George ! how well she looked with her hair all loose," he said to himself, as he at last regained his pillow, still warm with the generous god. But now, as he thought of that night, returning on his road from AUington to Guestwick, those loose, floating locks were remembered by him with no strong feeling as to their charms. And he thought also of Lily Dale, as 70 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. she was when he had said farewell to her on that day before he first went up to London. '' I shall care more about seeing you than anybody/' he had said ; and he had often thought of the words since, wondering whether she had understood them as meaning more than an assurance of ordinary friendship. And he remembered well the dress she had then worn. It was an old brown merino, which he had known before, and which, in truths had nothing in it to recommend it specially to a lover's notice. " Horrid old thing ! *' had been Lily's own verdict respecting the frock, even before that day. But she had hallowed it in his eyes^ and he would have been only too happy to have worn a shred of it near his heart, as a talisman. How wonderfdl in its nature is that passion of which men speak when they acknowledge* to them- selves that they are in love. Of all things, it is, under one con- dition, the most foul, and under another, the most fair. As that condition is, a man shows himself either as a beast or as a god ! And so we will let poor Johnny Eames ride back to Guestwick, suffering much in that he had loved basely — and suffering rnuch^ also, in that he had loved nobly. Lily, as she had tripped along through the shrubbery, under her lover's arm, looking up, every other moment, into his face, had espied her uncle and Bernard. ^' Stop,'* she had said, giving him a little pull at the arm ; '* I won't go on. Unde is always teasing me with some old-fashioned wit. And Fve had quite enough of you to-day, sir. Mind you come over to-morrow before you go to your shooting." And so she had left him. We may as well learn here what was the question in dispute between the uncle and cousin, as they were walking there on the broad gravel path behind the Great House. " Bernard," the old man had said, '' I wish this matter could be settled between yoa and BelL" " Is there any hurry about it, sir ? " '' Yes, there is hurry ; or, rather, as I hate hurry in all things, I would say that there is ground for despatch. Mind, I do not wish to drive you. If you do not like your cousin, say sa" BEAUTIFUL DAYS. 7f *' But I do like her ; only I have a sort of feeling that these things grow best by degrees. I quite share your dislike to being in a hurry/' ^* But time enough has been taken now. You see, Bernard, I am going to make a great sacrifice of income on your behalf.'' " I am sure I am very grateful." *' I have no children, and have therefore always regarded you as my own. But there is no reason why my brother Philip's daughter should not be as dear to me as my brother Orlando's son." " Of course not, sir ; or, rather, his two daughters." " You may leave that matter to me, Bernard. The younger girl is going to marry this friend of yours, and as he has a sufficient income to support a wife, I think that my sister-in-law has good reason to be satisfied by the match. She will not be expected to give up any part of her small income, as she must have done had Lily married a poor man." " I suppose she could hardly give up much." " People must be guided by circumstances. I am not disposed to put myself in the place of a parent to tliem both. There is no reason why I should, and I will not encourage false hopes. If I knew that this matter between you and Bell was arranged, I should have reason to feel satisfied with what I was doing." From all which Bernard began to perceive that poor Crosbie's expectations in the matter of money would nut probably receive much gratifi<}ation. But he also perceived — or thought that he perceived — a kind of threat in this warning from his uncle. '' £ have promised you eight hundred a year with your wife," the warning seemed to say. '' But if you do not at once accept it, or let me feel that it will be accepted, it may be well for me to change my mind — especially as this other niece is about to be married. If I am to give you so large a fortune with Bell, I need do nothing for Lily. But if you do not choose to take Bell and the fortune, why then ^" And so on. It was thus that Ber- 72 TEE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINQTOIST. nard read his uncle's cautioiii as they walked together on the broad gravel path. '' I have no desire to postpone the matter any longer," said Ber- nard. " I will propose to Bell at once, if you wish it" '' If your mind be quite made up, I cannot see why you should delay it." And then, having thus arranged that matter, they receiyed their future relative with kind smiles and soffc wordsw CHAPTEE Vn. THE BEOINNINO OF TROUBLES. Lilt, as she parted with her lover in the garden, had required of him to attend upon her the next morning as he went to his shooting, and in obedience to this command he appeared on Mrs. Dale's lawn after breakfast, accompanied by Bernard and two dogs. The men had guns in their hands, and were got up with all proper sporting appurtenances, but it so turned out that they did not reach the stubble-fields on the farther side of the road until after luncheon. And may it not be fairly doubted whether croquet is not as good as shooting when a man is in love 1 It will be said that Bernard Dale was not in love ; but they who bring such accusation against him, will bring it falsely. He was in love with his cousin Bell according to his manner and fashion. It was not his nature to love Bell as John Eames loved Lily ; but then neither would his nature bring him into such a trouble as that which the charms of Amelia Roper had brought upon the poor derk from the Income-tax Office. Johnny was susceptible^ as the word goes ; whereas Captain Dale was a man who had his feelings well under control. He was not one to make a fool of liimself about a girl, or to die of a broken heart ; but, neverthe- lees, he would probably love his wife when he got a wife, and would be a careful father to his children. They were very intimate with each other now, — these four. It was Bernard and Adolphus, or sometimes Apollo, and Bell and LUy among them ; and Crosbie found it to be pleasant enough. A new position of life had come upon him, and one exceeding pleasant ; 74 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. ,but, nevertheless, there were moments in which cold fits of a melan- /ft I choly ytature came upon him» He was doing the very thing which throughout all the years of his manhood he had declared to him- self that he would not do. According to his plan of life he was to have eschewed marriage, and to have allowed himself to regard it as a possible event only under the circumstances of wealth, rank, and beauty all coming in his way together. , As he had expected no such glorious prize, he had regarded himself as a man who would reign at the Beaufort and be potent at Sebright's to the end of his chapter. But now . It was the fact that he had fallen from his settled position, vanquished by a silver voice, a pretty wit, and a pair of moderately bright eyes. He was very fond of Lily, having in truth a stronger capability for falling in love than his friend Captain Dale ; but was the sacrifice worth his while ? This was the question which he asked himself in those melancholy moments ; while he was lying in bed, for instance, awake in the morning, when he was shaving himself, and sometimes also when the squire was prosy after dinner. At such times as these, while he would be listening to Mr. Dale, his self-reproaches would sometimes be very bitter. Why should he undergo this, he, Crosbie of Sebright's, Crosbie of the General Committee Office, Crosbie who would allow no one to bore him between Charing Cross and the far end of Bayswater, — why should he listen to the long-winded stories of such a one as Squire Dale % If, indeed, the squire intended to be liberal to his niece, then it might be yeiy welL But as yet the squire had given no fiign of such intention, and Crosbie was angry with him- self in that he had not had the courage to ask a question on that subject. And thus the course of love was not all smooth to our ApoUo* It was still pleasant for him wheii he was there on the croquet ground, or sitting in Mrs. Dale's drawing-room with all the privi- leges of an accepted lover. It was pleasant to hini also as he sipped the squire's claret, knowing that his coffee would soon be handed to him by a sweet girl who would have tripped across the THE BEGINNING OF TROUBLES. 75 two gardens on purpose to perform for him this servioe. There is nothing pleasanter than all this, although a man when so treated does feel himself to look like a calf at the altar, ready for the koife^ with blue ribbons round his horns and neck. Grosbie felt that he was such a calf, — and the more calf-like, in that he had not as yet dared to ask a question about his wife's fortune. " I will have it out of the old fellow this evening," he said to himself, as he buttoned on bis dandy shooting gaiters that morning. " How nice he looks in them," Lily said to her sister afterwards, knowing nothing of the thoughts which had troubled her lover'^ mind while he was adorning his legs. ^ I suppose we shall come back this way," Crosbie said, as they prepared to move away on their proper business when lunch was over. " Well, not exactly ! " said Bernard. " We shall make our way round by Darvell's farm, and so back by Gruddock's. Are the girls going to dine up at the Great House to-day % " The girls declared that they were not going to dine up at the Great House, — that they did not intend going to the Great House at all that evening. " Then, as you won't have to dress, you might as well meet us at Graddock's gate, at the back of the farmyard. We'll be there exactly at half-past five." " That is to say, we're to be there at half-past five, and youll keep us waiting for three-quarters of an hour," said Lily. Never- theless, the arrangement as proposed was made, and the two ladies were not at all unwilling to make it. It is thus that the game is carried on among unsophisticated people who really live in the country. The farmyard gate at Farmer Gruddock's has not a fitting sound as a trysting-place in romance, but for people who are in earnest it does as well as any oak in the middle glade of a forest Lily Dale was quite in earnest — and so indeed was AdolphuB Grosbie,— only with him the earnest was beginning to take that shade of brown which most earnest things have to wear in this vale of tears* With Lily it was as yet all rose-coloured. 76 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. And Bernard Dale was also in earnest. Throughout this morning he had stood very near to Bell on the lawn, and had thought that his cousin did not receive his little whisperings with any aversion. Why should she ? Lucky girl that she was, thus to have eight hundred a year pinned to her skirt ! ** I say, Dale,*' Crosbie said, as in the course of their day's work they had come round upon Gruddock's ground, and were preparing to finish* off his turnips before they reached the farmyard gate. And now, as Crosbie spoke, they stood leaning on the gate, look- ing at the turnips while the two dogs squatted on their haunches. Crosbie had been very silent for the last mile or two, and had been making up his mind for this conversation. " I say, Dale, — your uncle has never said a word to me yet as to Lily's fortune." " As to Lily's fortune 1 The question is whether Lily has got a fortune." " He can Hardly expect that I am to take her without some- thing. Your uncle is a man of the world and he knows ^" " Whether or no my uncle is a man of the world, I will not say ; but you are, Crosbie, whether he is or not. Lily, as you have always known, has nothing of her own." ** I am not talking of Lily's own, Pm speaking of her uncle. I have been straightforward with him ; and when I became iattached to your cousin I declared what I meant at once." '^ You should have asked him ^the question, if you thought there was any room for such a question." '' Thought there was any room ! Upon my word, you are a cool feUow." " Now look here, Crosbie ; you may say what you like about my unde, but you must not say a word against Lily." <; " Nonsense, Mrs. Hearn ! " " JoUiffe came and told me" — Jolliffe, I should explain, was the bailifl^ — " that if I didn't like it as it was, I might leave it, and that the squire could get double the rent for it. Now all I asked H 2 loo THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. was that he should da a little painting in the kitchen ; and the wood is all as black as his hat." " I thought it was understood you were to paint inside/' " How can I do it, my dear, with a hundred and forty pounds for everything? 1 must live, you know ! And he that h8« workmen about him every day of the year ! And was tJbat a message to send to me, who have lived in the parish for fiflky years 1 Here he is." And Mrs. Hearn majestically raised herself from her seat as the squire enters d the room. With him entered Mr. and Mrs. Boyce, from the parsonage, with Dick Boyce, the ungrown gentleman, and two girl Boyces^ who were fourteen and fifteen years of age. Mrs. Dale, with the amount of good-nature usual on such occasions, asked reproachfully why J«ne, and Charles, and Florence, and Bessy, did not come, — ^Boyce being a man who had his quiver full of them, — and Mrs. Boyce, giving the usual answer, declared that she already felt that they had come as an avalanche. " But where are the — the — the young men 1 *' asked Lily, as- suming a look of mock astonishment. " They'll be across in two or three hours' time," said the squire. " They both dressed for dinner, and, as I thought, made themselves very smart ; but for such a grand occasion as this they thought a second dressing necessary. How do you do, Mrs. Heam 1 I hope you are quite well. No rheumatism left, eh 1 '* This the squire said very loud into Mrs. Heam 's ear. Mrs. Heam was perhaps a little hard of hearing ; but it was very little, and she hated to be thought deaf. She did not, moreover, like to be thought rheumatic. This the squire knew, and therefore his mode of address was not good-natured. " You needn't make me jump so, Mr. Dale. I'm pretty well now, thank ye. I did have a twinge in the spring, — that cottage is so badly built for draughts ! * I wonder you can live in it,' my sister said to me the last time she was over. I suppose I should be better off over with h^r at Hamersham, only one doesn't like to move, you know> after living fifty years in one pariah.'* MRS. DALES LITTLE PARTY. to» *' You mustn't think of going away from us," Mrs. Boyoe said, speaking by no means loud, but slowly and plainly, hoping thereby to flatter the old woman. But the old woman understood it all "She's a sly creature, is Mrs.- Boyoe,*' Mrs. Heam said to Mrs. Dale, before the evening was out. There are some old people whom it is very hard to flatter, and with whom it is, nevertheless, almost impossible to live unless you do flatter them. At last the two heroes came in across the lawn at the drawing- room window ; and Lily, as they entered, dropped a low curtsey before them, gently swelling down upon the ground with her light muslin dress, till she looked like some wondrous flower that had bloomed upon the carpet, and putting her two hands, with the backs of her fingers pressed together, on the buckle of her girdle, she said, " We are waiting upon your honours' kind gi'ace, and feel how much we owe to you for favouring our poor abode.'' And then she gently rose up again, smiling, oh, so sweetly, on the man she loved, and the puffings and swellings went out of her muslin. I'think there is nothing in the world so pretty as the conscious little tricks of love played off by a girl towards the man she loves, when she has made up her mind boldly that all the world may know that she has given herself away to him. 1 am not sure that Crosbie liked it all as much as he should have done. The bold assurance of her love when they two were alone together he did like. What man does not like such assur- ances on such occasions ? But perhaps he would have been better pleased had lily shown more reticence, — been more secret, as it were, as to her feelings, when others were around them. It was not that he accused her in his thoughts of any want of delicacy. He read her character too well ; — was, if not quite aright in his readmg of it, at least too nearly so to admit of his making against her any such accusation as that. It was the calf-like feeling that was disagreeable to him. He did not like to be presented, even to the world of AUington, as a victim caught for the sacrifice, and bound with ribbon for the altar. And then there lurked behind XaJla" feeling that it might be safer that the thing should not be I02 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON, so openly manifested before all the world. Of course, everybodj knew that he was engaged to Lily Dale ; nor had he, as he said to himself, perhaps too frequently, the slightest idea of breaking from that engagement. But then the marriage might possibly be de* layed. He had not discussed that matter yet with Lily, having, indeed, at the first moment of his gratified love, created some little difficulty for himself by pressing for an early day. " I will refuse you nothing,'* she had said to him ; '^ but do not make it too soon.** He saw, therefore, before him some little embarrassment, and was inclined to wish that Lily would abstain from that manner which seemed to declare to all the world that she was about to be married immediately. '^ I must speak to her to-morrow," he said to him- self, as he accepted her salute with a mock gravity equal to her own. Poor Lily ! How little she understood as yet what was passing through his mind. Had she known his wish she would have wrapped up her love carefully in a napkin, so that no one should have seen it, — no one but he, when he might choose to have the treasure uncovered for his sight. And it was all for his sake that she had been thus open in her ways. She had seen girls who were half ashamed of their love ; but she would never be ashamed of hers or of him. She had given herself to him ; and now all the world might know it, if all the world cared for such knowledge Why should she be ashamed of that which, to her thinking, was so great an honour to her 9 She had heard of girls who would not speak of their love, arguing to themselves cannily that there may be many a slip between the cup and the lip. There could be no need of any such caution with her. There could surely be no such slip I Should there be such a fall, — should any such &te, either by falseness or misfortune, come upon her,-~«no such caution could be of service to save her. The cup would have been so shattered in its fall that no further piercing of its parts would be in any way possible. So much as this she did not exactly say to herself; but she felt it all, and went bravely forward, — bold in her love, and careful to hide it &om none who chanced to see it. MjRS. dales little party. 103 They had gone through the ceremony with the cake and tea- cups, and had decided that, at any rate, the first dance or two should be held upon the lawn when the last of the guests arrived. ''Oh, Adolphus, I am so glad he has come,** said Lily. ''Do try to like him." Of Dr. Crofts, who was the new comer, she had sometimes spoken to her lover, but she had never coupled her sister's name with that of the doctor, even in speaking to hint Nevertheless, Crosbie had in some way conceived the idea that this Crofts eithefr had been, or was, or was to be, in love with Bell ; and as he was prepared to advocate his friend Dale's claims in that quarter, he was not particularly anxious to welcome the doctor as a thoroughly intimate friend of the family. He knew nothing as yet of Dale's oflfer, or of Bell's refusal, but he was prepared for war, if war should be necessary. Of the squire, at the present moment, he was not very fond ; but if his destiny intended to give him a wife out of this family, he should prefer the owner of AUington and nephew of Lord De Guest as a brother-in law to a village doctor, — as he took upon himself, in his pride, to call Dr. Crofts. "It is very unfortimate," said he, "but I never do like Paragons." " But you must like this Paragon. Not that he is a Paragon at all, for he smokes and hunts, and does all manner of wicked things." And then she went forward to welcome her friend. Dr. Crofts was a slight, spare man, about five feet nine in height, with very bright dark ejes, a broad forehead, with dark hair that almost curled, but which did not come so forward over his brow as it should have done for purposes of beauty, — with a tbin well-cut nose, and a mouth that would have been perfect had the lips been a little fuller. The lower part of his face, when seen alone, had in it somewhat of sternness, which, however, was redeemed by the brightness of his e^es. And yet an artist would have declared that the lower features of his face were by far the more handsome. Lily went across to him and greeted him heartily, declaring how glad she was to have him there. " And I must introduce you to 104 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. Mr. Crosbie/ she said, as though she was determined to cany her point. The two men shook hands with each other, coldly, without saying a word, as young men are apt to do when they are brought together in that way. Then they separated at once, somewhat to the disappointment of Lily. Crosbie stood off by himself, both his eyes turned up towards the ceiling, and looking as though he meant to give himself airs \ while Crofts got himself quickly up to the fireplace, making civil little speeches to Mrs. Dale, Mr& fioyce, and Mrs. Hearn. And then at last he made his way round to Bell. " I am so glad," he said, " to congratulate you on your sister's engagement." *' Yes/' said Bell ; " we knew that you woiild be glad to hear of her happiness.'* "Indeed, I am glad, and thoroughly hope that she may be happy. You all like him, do you not \ " " We like him very much." '* And I am told that he is well off. He is a very fortunate man, — ^very fortunate, — very fortunate." " Of course we think so," said Bell. " Not, however, because he is rich." '^ No ; not because he is rich. But because, being worthy of such happiness, his' circumstances should enable him to manyj and to enjoy it." « Yes, exactly," said Bell. " That is just it" Then she sat down, and in sitting down put an end to the conversation. " That is just it," she had said. But as soon as the words were spoken she declared to herself that it was not so, and that Crofts was wrong. '^ We love him," she said to herself, '* not because he is rich enough to marry without anxious thought, but because be dares to marry although he is not riohi" And then she told her- self that she was angry with the doctor. After that Dr. Crofts got off towards the door, and stood there by himself, leaning against the wall, with the thumbs of both his hands stuck into the armholes of his waistcoat People said that MRS. DALES LITTLE PARTY, 105 he was a shy man« I suppose he was shy, and yet he was a man that was by no means afraid of doing anything that he had to do. He could speak before a multitude without being abashed, whether it was a multitute of men or of women. He could be very fixed too in his own opinion, and eager, if not violent, in the prose- cution of his purpose. But he could not stand and say little words, when he had in truth nothing to say. He could not keep his ground when he felt that he was not using the ground upon which he stood. He had not learned the art of assuming him- self to be of importance in whatever place he might find himself. It was this art which Crosbie had learned, and by this art that he had flourished. So Crofts retired and leaned against the wall near the door; and Crosbie came forward and shone like an Apollo among all the guests. " How is it that he does it 9 " said John Eames to himself, envying the perfect happiness of the London man of fashion. At last Ljjy got the dancers out upon the lawn, and then they managed to get through one quadrille. But it was found that it did not answer. The music of single fiddle which Crosbie had hired from Guestwick was not sufficient for the purpose ; and then the grass, though it was perfect for purposes of croquet, was not pleasant to the feet for dancing. ** This is very nice," said Bernard to his cousin. ** I don't know anythuig that could be nicer ; but perhaps " " I know what you mean," said Lily. ** But I shall ^tay here. There's no touch of romance about any of you. Look at the moon there at the back of the steeple. I don't mean to go in all night." Then she walked off by one of the paths, and her lover went after her. "Don't you like the moon % " she said, as she took his arm, to which she was now so accustomed that she hardly thought of it as she took it. " Like the moon — ^well ; I fancy I like the sun better. I don't quite beUeve in moonlight. I think, it ..does best to, talk about when one wants to be sentimental" io6 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. ''Ah ; that is just what I fear. That is what I say to Bell when I tell her that her romance will fade as the roses da And then I shall have to learn that prose is more serviceable than po6try, and that the mind is better than the heart, and — and that money is better than love. It's all coming, I know ; and yet I do like the moonlight/' ** And the poetry, — and the love ? " " Yes. The poetry much, and the love more. To be loved by you is sweeter even than any of my dreams, — is better than all the poetry I have read." ' *' Dearest Lily," and his unchecked arm stole round her waist. ''It is the meaning of the moonlight, and the essence of the poetry," continued the impassioned girl. " I did not know then why I liked such things, but now I know. It was because I longed to be loved." " And to love." " Oh, yes. I would be nothing without that. But that, you know, is your delight, — or should be. The other is min^ And yet it is a delight to love you ; to know that I may love you." " You mean that this is the realization of your romance." "Yes; but it must not be the end of it, Adolphus. You must like the soft twilight, and the long evenings when we shall be alone ; and you must read to me the books I love, and you must not teach me to think that the world is hard, and dry, and cruel, — ^not yet. I tell Bell so very often ; but you niust not say so to me." "It shall not be dry and cruel, if I can prevent it." " You understand what I mean, dearest. I will ndt think it dry and cruel, even though sorrow should come upon us, if you— I think you know what I mean." " If I am good to you." " I am not afraid of that ; — I am not the least afraid of that. You do not thiiik that I could ever distrust you 9 But you must not be ashamed to look at the moonlight^ and to read poetry, and to " MRS. DALE'S LITTLE PARTY. 107 " To talk nonsense, you mean." But as he said it^ be pressed her closer to his side, and his tone was pleasant to her. '' I suppose I'm talking nonsense now 9 " she said, pouting. " Ton liked me better when I was talking about the pigs ; didn't you ? " " No ; I like you best now." " And why didn't you like me then ? Did I say anything to offend you ? " " I like you best now, because ^" They were standing in the narrow pathway of the gate leading from the bridge into the gardens of the Great House, and the shadow of the thick-spreading laurels was around them. But the moonlight still pierced brightly through the little avenue, and she looked up to him, could see the form of his face and the loving softness of his eye. "Because ^," said he; and then he stooped over her and pressed her closely, while she put up her lips to his, standing on tip-toe that she might reach to his face. "Oh, my love ! " she said. " My love ! my love 1 " As Crosbie walked back to the Great Hoase that night, he made a firm resolution that no consideration of worldly welfjare should ever induce him to break his engagement with Lily Dale. He went somewhat farther also, and determined that he would not put off the marriage for more than six or eight months, or, at the most, ten, if he could possibly get his affairs arranged in that time. To be sure, he must give up everything, — all the aspira- tioQB and ambition of his life j but then, as he declared to him- self somewhat momnfully, he was prepared to do that. Such were his resolutions, and, as he thought of them in bed, he came to the eondusion that few men were leas selfish than he was. ... "But what will they say to us for staying away 1" said Lily, wcovering herself. •* And I ought to be making the people dance, you know. Gome along, and do make yourself nice. Do waits io8 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. with Mai'y Eames ; — pray, do. If you don't, I won't speak to you all night ! " Acting under which threat, Crosbie did, on his return, solicit the honour of that young lady's hand, thereby elating her into a seventh heaven of happiness. What could the world afford better than a waltz with such a partner as Adolphus Crosbie ? And poor Mary Eames could waltz well ; though she could not talk much as she danced, and would pant a good deal when she stopped. She put too much of her energy into the motion, and was too anxious to do the mechanical part of the work in a manner that should be satisfactory to her partner. " Oh ! thank you ; — it's very nice. I shall be able to go on — again directly.'' Her conversation with Crosbie did not get much beyond that, and yet she felt that she had never done better than on this occasion. Though there were, at most^ not above five couples of dancers, and though they who did not dance, such as the squire and Mr. Boyce, and a curate from a neighbouring parish, had, in £Act^ nothing to amuse them, the affair was kept on very merrily for a considerable number of hours. Exactly at twelve o'clock there was a little supper, which, no doubt, served to relieve Mrs. Heam'g twimiy and at which Mrs. Boyce also seemed to enjoy herself. As to the Mrs. Boyces on such occasions, I profess that I feel no pity. They are generally happy in their children's happiness, or if not, they ought to be. At any rate, they are simply performing a manifest duty, which duty, in their time, was performed on their behalf. But on what account do the Mrs. Heams betake them- selves to such gatherings 9 Why did that ancient lady sit there hour after hour yawning, longing for her bed, looking every ten minutes at her watch, while her old bones were stiff and sore, and her old ears pained with the noise I It could hardly have been simply for the sake of the supper. After the supper, however, her maid took her across to her cottage, and Mrs. Boyce also then stole away home, and the squire went off with some little parade, suggesting to the young men that they should make no noise in the house as they returned. But the poor curate remained, talk- MRS, DALES LITTLE PARTY. lO^ ing a dull word every now and then to Mrs. Dale, and looking on with tantalized eyes at the joys which the world had prepared for others than him. I must say that I think that public opinion and the bishops together are too hard upon curates in this par- ticular. In the latter part of the night's delight, when time and practice had made them all happy together, John Eames stood up for the first time to dance with Lily. She had done all she could, short of asking him, to induce him to do her this favour ; for she felt that it would be a favour. How great had been the desire on his part to ask her, and, at the same time, how great the repugnance, Lily, perhaps, did not quite understand. And yet she understood much of it. She knew that he was not angry with her. She knew that he was suffering jfrom the injured pride of futile love, almost as much as from the futile love itself She wished to put him at his ease in this ; but she did not quite give him credit for the full sincerity, and the upright, imcontrolled heartiness of his feelings. At length he did come up to her, and though, in truth, she was engaged, she at once accepted his offer. Then she tripped across the room. "Adolphus," she said, "I can't dance with you, though I said I would. John Eames has asked me, and I haven't stood up with him before. You understand, and you'll be a good boy, won't you ? " Croebie, not being in the least jealous, was a good boy, and sat himself down to rest, hidden behind a door. For the first few minutes the conversation between Eames and Lily was of a very matter-of-fact kind. She repeated her wish that she might see him in London, and he said that of course he should come and calL Then there was silence for a little while, and they went through their figure dancing. " I don't at all know yet when we are to be married," said Lily, as soon as they were again standing together. *' No ; I dare say not," said Eames. " But not this year, I suppose. Indeed, I should say, of course not" no THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. ''In the spring, perhaps/' suggested Eames. He had an un- conscious desire that it might be postponed to some Greek kalends, and yet he did not wish to injure Lily. '' The reason I mention it is this, that we should be so very glad if you could be here. We all love you so much, and I should so like to have you here on that day." Why is it that girls so constantly do this, — so frequently ask men whe have loved them to be present at their marriages with other men ? . There is no triumph in it. It is done in sheer kind- ness and afifection. They intend to offer something which shall soften and not aggravate the sorrow that they have caused. '' You can't marry me yourself," the lady seems to say. " But the next greatest blessing which I can offer you shall be yours, — ^you shall see me married to somebody else." I fully appreciate the inten- tion, but in honest truth, I doubt the eligibility of the proffered entertainment. On the present occasion John Eames seemed to be of this opinion, for he did not at once accept the invitation. " Will you not oblige me so far as that 1 " said she softly. " I would do anything to oblige you," said he gruffly ; " almost anything." " But not that % " " No ; not that. I could not do that." Then he went off upon his figure, and when they were next both standing together, they remained siletit till their turn for dancing had again come. Why was it, that after that night Lily thought more of John Eames than ever she had thought before ; — felt for him, I mean, a higher respect, as for a man who had a will of his own ? And in that quadrille Crofts and Bell had been dancing together, and they also had been talking of Lily's marriage. '' A man may imdergo what he likes for himself," he had said, '' but he has no right to make a woman undergo poverty." " Perhaps not," said BelL " That which is no suffering for a man, — which no man should think of for himself, — will make a hell on earth for a woman." MRS. DALES LITTLE PARTY. Ill '' I suppose it would/' said Bell, answering him without a sign of feeling in her £a.oe or voice. But she took in every word that he spoke, and disputed their truth inwardly with all the strength of her heart and mind, and with the very vehemence of her soul. '^ Ab if a woman cannot bear more than a man ! " she said to her- self, as she walked the length of the room alone, when she had got herself free from the doctor's arm. After that they all went to bed. •.\J!.-., » . ar-« j-,-^-,. CHAPTER X. MRS. LUPEX AND AMELIA ROPER I SHOULD simply mislead a confiding reader if I were to tell him that Mrs. Lupex was an amiable woman. Perhaps the fact that she was not amiable is the one great fanlt that should be laid to her charge ; but that fault had spread itself so widely, and had cropped forth in so many different places of her life, like a strong rank plant that will show itself all over a garden, that it may almost be said that it made her odious in every branch of life, and detestable alike to those who knew her little and to those who knew her much. If a searcher could have got at the inside spirit of the woman, that searcher would have found that she wished to go right, — ^that she did make, or at any rate promise to herself that she would make, certain struggles to attain decency and pro- priety. But it was so natural to her to torment those whose mis- fortune brought them near to her, and especially that wretched man who in an evil day had taken her to his bosom as his wife, that decency fled from her, and propriety would not live in her quartera Mrs. Lupex was, as I have aheady described her, a woman not without some feminine attraction in the eyes of those who like morning negligence and evening finery, and do not object to a long nose somewhat on one side. She was clever in her way, and could say smart things. She could flatter also, though her very flattery had always in it something that was disagreeable. And she must have had some power of will, as otherwise her husband would have escaped from her before the days of which I am MRS. LUPEX AND AMELIA ROPER. 113 writing. Otherwise, also, she could hardly have obtained her footing and kept it in Mrs. Boper's drawing-room. For though the hundred pounds a year, either paid, or promised to be paid, was matter with Mrs. Roper of vast consideration, nevertheless the first three months of Mrs. Lupex's sojourn in Burton Crescent were not over before the landlady of that house was most anxiously desirous of getting herself quit of her married boarders. I shall perhaps best describe a little incident that had occurred in Burton Crescent during the absence of our frieud Eames, and the manner in which things were going on in that locality, by giving at length two letters which Johnny received by post at Guestwiek on the morning after Mrs. Dale's party. Ooe was from bis friend Cradell, and the other from the devoted Amelia, lu this instance I will give that from the gentleman firsst, presuming that I shall best consult my reader's wishes by keeping the greater delicacy till the last. " Income Tax Office, September, 186—, " My Dear Johnny, — We have had a terrible affair in the Crescent ; and I really hardly know how to tell you ; and yet I must do it, for I want your a Ivioo. You know the sort of stand ing that I was on with Mrs. Lupex, and perhaps you remember what we were saying on the platform at the station. I have, no doubt, been fond of her society, as I might be of that of any other friend. I knew, of course, that she was a fine woman ; and if her husband chose to be jealous, I couldn't help that. But I never intended anything wrong ; and, if it was necessary, couldn't I call yon as a witness to prove it ? I never spoke a word to her out of Mrs. Roper's drawing-room | and Miss Spruce, or Mrs. Roper, or somebody has always been there. You know he drinks horribly sometimes, but I do not think he ever gets downright drunk. Well, he came home last night about nine o'clock after one of these bouta From what Jemima says [Jemima was Mrs. Roper's parlour-maid], I believe he had be^i at it down at the theatre for three days. We hadn't seen him since Tuesday. He went straight into the parlour and sent up Jemima to me, to say that he wanted VOL. I. I 114 tHE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. • to see me. Mrs. Lupex was in the room and heard the girl summon me, and, jumping up, she declared that if there was going to be blood shed she would leave the housa There was nobody else in the room but Miss Spruce, and she didn't say a word, but took her candle and went upstairs. You must own it looked very uncomfortable. What was I to do with a drunken man down in the parlour ? However^ she seemed to think I ought to go. * If he comes up here,' said she, ' I shall be the victim. You little know of what that man is capable when his wrath has been in> flamed by wine % ' Now, I think you are aware that I am not likely to be very much afraid of any man ; but why was I to be got into a row in such a way as this 1 I hadn't done anything. And then, if there was to be a quarrel, and anything was to come of it, as she seemed to expect, — like bloodshed, I mean, w a fight, or if he were to knock me on the head with the poker, where should I be at my office % A man in a publio office, as you and I are, can't quarrel like anybody else. It was this that I felt so much at the moment. *• Go down to him,' said she, ' unless you wish to see me murdered at your feet.' Fisher says, that if what I say is true, they must have arranged it all between them. I don t think that ; for I do believe that she really is fond of me. And then everybody knows that they never do agree about any- thing. But she certainly did implore me to go down to him. Well, I went down ; and, as I got to the bottom of the stairs, where I found Jemima, I heard him walking up and down the parlour. * Take care of yourself, Mr. Cradell,' said the giii \ and I oould see by her face that she was in a terrible fright. *' At that moment I happened to see my hat on the hall table, and it occurred, to me that I ought to put myself into the hands of a friend. Of course, I was not afraid of that man in the dining- room ; but should I have be6n justified in engaging in a struggle perhaps for dear life, in Mrs. Roper's house f I was boimd to think of her interests. So I took up my hat, and deliberately walked out of the front door. 'Tell him,' said I to Jemima, • that Pm not at home.' And so I went away direct to Fisher's, MRS. LUPEX AND AMELIA ROPER 115 meaning to send him back to Lupez as my friend ; but Fisher was at his chess-club. '' As I thought there was no time to be lost on such an occasion as this» I went down to the club and called him out. ' You km w what a cool fellow Fisher is. I don't suppose anything would ever excite him. When I told him the story, he said that he would sleep upon it ; and I had to walk up and down before the club while he finished his game. Fisher seemed to think that I might go back to Burton Crescent ; but, of course, I knew that that would be out of the question. So it ended in my going home ml sleeping on his sofa, and sending for some of my things in the morning. I wanted him to get up and see Lupex before going to the office this morning. But he seemed to think it would be better to put it off, and so he will call upon him at the theatre immediately after office hours. " I want you to write to me at once saying what you know about the matter. I ask you, as I don't want to lug in any of the other people at Roper's. It is very uncomfortable, as I can't exactly leaye her at once because of last quarterns money, otherwise I should cut and run ; for the house is not the sort of place eithe!r for you or me. You may take my word for that, Master Johnuy, And I could tell you something, too, about A. R., only I don't want to make mischief. But do you write immediately. And now I think of it, you had better write to Fisher, so that he can show your letter to Lupex, — just saying, that to the best of your belief there had never been anything between her and me but mei^e friendship \ and that, of course, you, as my friend, must have known everything. Whether I shall go back to Roper's to-night will depend on what Fisher says after the interview. " Good-by, old fellow ! I hope you are enjoying yourself, and that L. D. is quite welL — Your sincere friend, "Joseph Cradbll." John Eames read this letter over twice before he opened that from Amelia. He had never yet received a letter from Miss I 2 ii6 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. Roper ; and felt very little of that ardour for its perusal which young men generally experience on the receipt of a first letter from a young lady. The memory of Amelia was at the present moment distasteful to him ; and he would have thrown the letter unopened into the fire, had he not felt it might be dangerous to do so. As regarded his friend Cradell, he could not but feel ashamed of him, — ashamed of him, not for running away from Mr. Lupex, but for excusing bis escape on false pretences. And then, at last, he opened the letter from Amelia. "Dearest John,'' it began ; and as he read the words, he crumpled the paper up between his fingers. It was written in a fair female hand, with sharp points instead of curves to the letters, but still very legible^ and looking as though there were a decided purport in every word of it. " Dearest John, — It feels so strange to me to write to you in such language as this. And yet you are dearest, and have I not a right to call you so % And are you not my own, and am not I yours ? [Again he crunched the paper up in his hand, and, as he did so, he muttered words which I need not repeat at length. But still he went on with his letter.] I know that we understand each other perfectly, and when that is the case, heart should be allowed to speak openly to heart. Those are my feelings, and I believe that you will find them reciprocal in your own bosom. Is it not sweet to be loved % I find it so. And, dearest John, let me assure you, with open candour, that there is no room for jealousy in this breast with regard to you. I have too much confidence for that, I can assure you, both in your honour and in my own — I would say- char ms, only you would call me vain. You must not suppose that I meant what I said about L. D. Of course, you wiU be glad to see the friends of your childhood ; and it would/be far fix)m your Amelia's heart to begrudge you such delightful pleasure.. Your friends will, I hope, some day be my friends. [Another crunch.] And if there be any one among them, any rpal L. D. whom you you have specially liked, I will receive her to my heart, specially MRS. LUPEX AND AMELIA ROPER. 117 &l8o. [This assurance on the part of his Amelia was too much for him, and he threw the letter from him, thinking wheuce he might g6t relief — whether from suicide or from the colonies ; but pre- seutly he took it up again, and drained the bitter cup to the bottom.] And if I seemed petulant to you before you went a^ay you must forgive your own Amelia. I had nothing before me but misery for the month of your absence. There is no one here con- genial to my feelings, — of course not. And you would not wish me to be happy in your absence, — would you ? I can assure you, let your wishes be what they may, I never can be happy again unless you are with me. Write to me one little line, and tell me that you are grateful to me for my devotion, ^ And now, I must tell you that we have had a sad afifair in the house \ and I do not think that your friend Mr. Cradell has be- haved at all well. You remember how he has been always going on with Mrs. Lupex. Mother was quite unhappy about it, though she didn't like to say anything. Of course, when a lady's name is con- cerned, it is particular. But Lupex has become dreadful jealous during the last week ; and we all knew that something was coming^ She is an artful woman, but I don't think she meant anything bad —only to drive her husband to desperation. He came here yesterday in one of his tantrums, and wanted to see Cradell ; but he got frightened, and took his hat and went off. Now, that wasn't quite right. If he was innocent, why didn't he stand his ground and explain the mistake % As mother says, it gives the house such a name. Lupex swore last night that he'd be off to the Income-tax Office this morning, and have Cradell out before all the commissioners, and clerks, and everybody. If he does that, it will get into the papers, and all London will be full of it. She would like it, I know ; for all she c«ires for is to be talked about ; but only think what it will be for raother^s house. I wish you were here ; for your high prudence and courage would set everything right at once, — at least, I think so. *5P shall count the minutes till I get an answer to this, and shall eiAy the postman who will have yo\ir letter before it will reach )/ 5 1x8 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALlJNGTOI^, me. Do write at once. If I do not hear by Monday morning, I shall think that something is the matter. Even though you are among yo\ir dear old Hfriends, surely you can find a moment to write to your own Amelia. '^Mother is very unhappy about thiBJ6.ffair of the Limexes. She says that if yojii were here to advise her uie should not|mind it so much. It is very hard upon her, for she does strive to make the house res- pectable and comfortable for everybody. I would send my duty and love to your dear mamma» if I only knew her, as I hope I shall do one day, and to your sister, and to L. D. also, if you like to tell her how we are situated together. So, now, no more &om your *' Always affectionate sweetheart, *' Amelia Roper." Poor Eames did not feel the least gratified by any part of this fond letter ; but the last pai*agraph of it was the worst. Was it to be endured by him that this woman should send her love to his mother and to his sister, and even to Lily Dale 1 He felt that there was a pollution in the very mention of Lily's name by such an one as Amelia Roper. And yet Amelia Roper was, as she had assured him, — his own. Much as he disliked her at the present moment, he did believe that he was — her own. He did feel that she had obtained a certain property in him, and that his destiny in life would tie him to heN. He had said very few words of love to her at any time — very few, at least, that were themselves of any moment ; but among those few there had undoubtedly been one or two in which he had told her that he loved her. And he had written to/^er that fatal note ! Upon the whole, would it not be as well for him to go out to the great reservoir behind Guestwick, by which the Hamersham Canal was fed with its waters, and put an end to his miserable existence I On that same day he did write a letter to Fisher, and he wrote also to Cradell. As to those letters he felt no difficulty. To Fisher he declared his belief that Cradell was innocent as he was himself as regarded Mrs. Lupez. " I don't think he is the sort of man to SOCIAL LIFE. 123 bring him round. The second glass would make him the fondest husband living ; but the third would restore to him the memory of all his wrongs, and give him courage against his wife or all the world, — even to the detriment of the furniture around him, should a stray poker chance to meet bis hand. All these peculiarities of his character were not, however, known to Cradell ; and when our friend saw him enter the drawing-room with his wife on his arm, he was astonished. *' Mr. Cradell, your hand,'' said Lupez, who had advanced as far as the second glass of brandy-and-water, but had not been allowed to go beyond it. "There has been a misxmderstanding between us ; let it be forgotten." ^* Mr. Cradell, if I know him,'' said the lady, '^ is too much the gentleman to bear any anger when a gentleman has offered him his band" "Oh, I'm sure," said Cradell, "I'm quite indeed, I'm de- lighted to find there's nothing wrong after alL" And then he shook hands with both of them ; whereupon Miss Spruce got up, curtseyed low, and also shook hands with the husband and wife. "You're not a married man, Mr. Cradell," said Lupex, "and, therefore, you cannot understand the workings of a husband's heart. There have been moments when my regard for that woman has been too much for me." *^ Now, Lupex, don't," said she, playfully tapping him with an old parasol which she still held. "And I do not hesitate to say that my regard for her was too much for me on that night when I sent for you to the dining- room*" " I'm glad it's all put right now," said Cradell. " Very glad, indeed," said Miss Spruce. " And, therefore, we need not say any more about it," said Mrs. Lupex. "One word," said Lupex, waving his hand. "Mr. Cradell, I gi^tly rejoice that you did not obey my summons on that night. Had you done so, — I confess it now, — had you do^q so, blood 124 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALlINGTON. would have been the consequence. I was mistaken. I acknow- ledge my mistake ; — but bloo/^d would have been the consequence." " Dear, dear, dear,** said Miss Spruce. " Miss Spruce," continued Lupex, " there are moments when the heart becomes too strong for a man.'' " I dare say,'* said Miss Spruce. " Now, Lupex, that will do," said his wife. " Yes ; that will do. But I think it right to tell Mr. Cradell that I am glad he did not come to me. Your friend, Mr. Cradell, did me the honour of calling on me at the theatre yesterday, at half- past four ; but I was in the slings then, and could not very well come down to him. I shall be happy to see you both any day at five, and to bury all unkindness with a chop and glass at the Pot and Poker, in Bow-street." ' " Pm sure you're very kind," said Cradell. ^' And Mrs. Lupex will join us. There's a delightful little snug- gery upstairs at the Pot and Poker ; and if Miss Spruce will con- descend to ^" " Oh, I'm an old woman, sir." " No— no — no," said Lupex, " I deny that. Come, Cradell, what do you say ? — just a snug little dinner for four, you know." It was, no doubt, pleasant to see Mr. Lupex in his present mood — ^much pleasanter than in that other mood of which blood would have been the consequence ; but pleasant as he now was, it was, nevertheless, apparent that he was not quite sober. Cradell, there- fore, did not settle the day for the little dinner ; but merely remarked that he should be very happy at some fature day. " And now, Lupex, suppose you get off to bed," said his wife. "You've had a veiy trying day, you know." " And you, ducky ? " " I shall come presently. Now don't be making a fool of your- self, but get yourself off. Come — -" and she stood close up against the open door, waiting for him to pass. '* I rather think I shall remain where I am, and have a glass of something hot/' said he. SOCIAL LIFE, 125 '' LupeXy do you want to aggravate me again ? ** said the lady, and she looked at him with a glance of her eye which he thoroughly ondQrstood. He was uot in a humour for fighting, nor was he at present desirous of blood \ so he resolved to go. But as he went he prepared himself for new battles. '' I shall do something desperate, I am sure ; I know I shall," he said, as he pulled off his boots. " Oh, Mr. Cradell,'' said Mrs. Lupex as soon as she had closed the ddor behind her retreating husband, *' how am I ever to look jou in the face again after the events of these last memorable days % " And then she seated herself on the sof% and hid her face in a cambric handkerchief. " As for that," said Cradell, " what does it signify, — among friends like us, you know 1 " *' But that it should be known at your office, — as of course it is, because of the gentleman that went down to him at the theatre !-^ I don't think I shall ever survive it." " You see I was obliged to send somebody, Mrs. Lupex." " I'm not finding fault, Mr. CradelL I know very well that in my melancholy position I have no right to find fault, and I don't pretend to understand gentlemen's feelings towards each other. But to have had my name mentioned up with yours in that way is Oh ! Mr. Cradell, I don't know how I'm ever to look you in the face again." And again she buried hers in her pocket-handkerchiefl " Handsome is as handsome does," said Miss Spruce ; and there was that in her tone of voice which seemed to convey much hidden meaning. ** Exactly so. Miss Spruce," said Mrs. Lupex ; '* and that's my only comfort at the present moment. Mr. Cradell is a gentleman who would scorn to take advantage — I'm quite sure of that." And then she did contrive to look at him over the edge of the hand which held the handkerchief. "That I wouldn't, I'm sure," said Cradell. " That is to say " And then he paused. He did not wish to get into a scrape about Mrs. Lupex. He was by no means anxious to encounter her hus- 126 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. band in one of his fits of jealousy. But he mi like the idea (fxi of being talked of as the admirer of a married woman, and he did like the brightness of the lady's eyes. When the unfortunate moth iu his semi-blindness whisks himself and his wings within the flame of the candle, and finds himself mutilated and tort\ired, he even then will not take the lesson, but returns again and again till he is destroyed. Such a moth was poor Cradell. There was no warmth to be got by him from that flame. There was no beauty in the light, — not even the false brilliance of unhallowed love. Injury might come to him, — ^a pernicious clipping of the wings, which might destroy all power of future flight ; injury, and not improbably destruction, if he should persevere. But one may say that no single hour of happiness could accrue to him from his in- timacy with Mrs. Lupei. He felt for her no love. He was afraid of her, and, in many respects, disliked her. But to him, in his moth-like weakness, ignorance, and blindness, it seemed to be a great thing that he should be allowed to fly near the candle. Oh ! my fi:iends, if you will but think of it, how many of you have been moths, and are now going about ungracefully with wings more or less burnt ofi^, and with bodies sadly scorched ! But before Mr. Cradell could make up his mind whether or no he would take advantage of the present opportunity for another dip into the flame of the candle, — in regard to which proceeding, however, he could not but feel that the presence of Miss Spruce wss objectionable, — the door of the room was opened, and Amelia Roper joined the party. " Oh, indeed ; Mrs. Lupex," she said. " And Mr. Cradell ! " " And Miss Spruce, my dear," said Mrs. Lupex, pointing to the ancient lady. " I'm only an old woman," said Miss Spruce. ** Oh, yes ; I see Miss Spruce," said Amelia. " I was not hint- ii^ at anything, I can assure you." '^^ I should think not, my dear," said Mrs. Lupex. " Only I didn't know that you two were quite That is, SOCIAL LIFE. 127 when last I heard about it, I fancied But if the quarrers made up, there's nobody more rejoiced than I am." '^ The quarrel is made up," said CradelL ^ If Mr. Lupex is satisfied, I'm sure I am," said Amelia. '* Mr. Lupex is satisfied," said Mrs. Lupex ; '' and let me tell you, my dear, seeing that you are expecting to get married your- self " " Mrs. Lupex, I'm not expecting to get married, — not particu- larly, by any means." " Oh, I thought you were. And let me tell you, that when you've got a husband of your own, you won't find it so easy to keep everything straight. That's the worst of these lodgings, if there is any little thing, everybody knows it. Don't they. Miss Spruce 1 " *' Lodgings is so much more comfortable than housekeeping,'' said Miss S{»ruce, who lived rather in fear of her relatives, the Ropers. " Everybody knows it ; does he ? " said Amelia. " Why, if a gentleman will come home at night tipsy and threaten to murder another gentleman in the same house ; and if a lady ^" And then Amelia paused, for she knew that the line-of-battle ship which she was preparing to encoimter had within her much power of fighting. *' Well, miss," said Mrs. Lupex, getting on her feet, '' and what of the lady?" Now we may say that the battle had begun, and that the two ships were pledged by the general laws of courage and naval war- fare ^to maintain the contest till one of them should be absolutely disabled, if not blown up or sunk. And at this moment it might be difficult for a bystander to say with which of -the combatants rested the better chance of permanent success. Mrs. Lupex had doubtless on her side more matured power, a habit of fighting which had given her infinite skill, a courage which deadened her to the feeling of all wounds while tibe heat of the battle should last, and a recklessness which made her almost indifferent whether 128 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. she sank or swam. But theu Amelia carried the greater guns, and was able to pour in heavier metal than her enemy could use ; and she, too, swam in her own waters. Should they absolutely come to grappling and boarding, Amelia would no doubt have the best of it j but Mrs. Lupex would probably be too crafty to permit such a proceeding as that. She was, however, ready for the occasion, and greedy for the fight. " And what of the lady ? '* said she, in a tone of voice that admitted of no pacific rejoinder. "A lady, if she is a lady,'* said Amelia, "will know how to behave herself." " And you're going to teach me, are you. Miss Roper % I'm sure I'm ever so much obliged to you. It's Manchester manners, I suppose, that you prefer ]" *' I prefer honest manners, Mrs. Lupex, and decent manners, and manners that won't shock a whole house full of people ; and I don't care whether they come from Manchester or London." " Milliner's manners, I suppose 1 " ^' I don't care whether they are milliner's manners or theatrical, Mrs. Lupex, as long as they're not downright bad manners — as yours are, Mrs. Lupex. And now you've got it. What are you going on for in this way with that young man, till you'll drive your husband into a madhouse with drink and jealousy % " " Miss Roper ! Miss Roper ! " said Cradell ; " now really ^" " Don't mind her, Mr. Cradell," said Mrs. Lupex ; " she's not worthy for you to speak to. Aud ad to that poor fellow Eamesy if you've any friendship for him, you'll let him know what she is. My dear, how's Mr. Juniper, of Grogiram's house^ at Salford % I know all about you, and so shall John Eames, too-^poor iinfor- tunate fool of a fellow ! Telling me of drink and jealousy, indeed!" " Yes, tellipg you ! And now you've mentioned Mr. Jupiper^s name, Mr. Eames, and Mr. Oradell too, may know the whole of it. There's, been nothing about Mr. Juniper that I'm ashamed of." MRS. LUPEX AND AMELIA ROPER. \\^ make up to a married woman/' he said, somewhat to CradelPa difk pleasure, when the letter reached the Inoome-tax Office ; for that gentleman was not averse to the reputation for success in loye which the little adventure was, as he thought, calculated to give him among his brother clerk& At the first bursting of the shell, when that desperately jealous man was raging in the parlour^ incensed by the fumes both of wine and love, Dradell had felt that the affair was disagreeably painfuL But on the morning of the third day — for he had passed two nights on his friend Fisher's sofa — ^he had begun to be somewhat proud of it, and did not dislike to hear Mrs. Lupex's name in the mouths of the other clerks. When, therefore, Fisher read to him the letter from Guestwick, he hardly was pleased with his friend's tone. " Ha, ha^ ha," said he, laugh- ing. '^ That's just what I wanted him to say. Make up to a married woman,- indeed. No ; Tm the last man in London to do that sort of thing." " Upon my word, Ca^idle, I think you are," said Fisher ; " the very last man." And then poor Cradell was not happy. On that afternoon he boldly went to Burton Crescent, and ate his dinner there. Neither Mr. or Mrs. Lupex was to be seen, nor were their names mentioned to him by Mrs. Roper. In the course of the evening he did pluik up courage to ask Miss Spruce where they were ; but Uiat ancient lady merely shook her head solemnly, and declared that she knew nothing about such goings on — no, not she. But what was John Eames to do as to that letter from Amelia Roper? He felt that any answer to it would be very dangerous, and yet that he could not safely leave it unanswered. He walked off by himself across Guestwick Common, and through the woods of Guestwick Manor, up by the big avenue of elms in Lord De Guesu'd park, trying to resolve how he might rescue himself from this scrape. Here, over the same ground, he had wandered scores of times in his earlier years, when he knew nothing beyond the inno- cency of his country home, thinking of Lily Dale, and swearing to himself that she should be his wife. Here he had strung together ^ \ % r> / I20 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. his rhymes, and fed his ambition with high hopes, building gor- geous castles in the air, in all of which Lilian reigned as a queen ; and though in those days he had known himself to be awkward, poorjfuncared for by any in the world except his mother and his sister, yet he had been happy in his hopes — Chappy in his hopes, even though he had neve^aught himself really to believe that they would be realized. But now there was nothing in his hopes or thoughts to make him happy. Everything was black, and wretched, and ruinous. What would it matter, after all, even if he should marry Amelia Roper, seeing that Lily was to be given to another % But then the idea of Amelia as he had seen her that night through the chink in the door came upon his memory, and he confessed to himself that life with such a wife as that would be a living death. At one moment he thought that he would tell his mother every- • thing, and leave her to write an answer to Amelia's letter. Should the worst come to the worst, the Ropers could not absolutely des- troy him. That they could bring an action against him, and have him locked up for a term of years, and dismissed from his office, and exposed in all the newspapers, he seemed to know. That might all, however, be endured, if only the gauntlet could be thrown down for him by some one else. The one thing which he felt that he could not do was, to write to a girl whom he had pro- fessed to love, and tell her that he did not love her. He knew that he could not himself form such words upon the paper ; nor, as he was well aware, could he himself find the courage to tell her to her face that he had changed his mind. He knew that he must be- come the victim of his Amelia, unless he could find some friendly knight to do battle in his favour; and then again he thought of his mother. ^But when he returned home he was as far as ever from any resolve to tell her how he was situated. I may say that his walk had done him no good, and that he had not made up his mind to anything. He had been building those pernicious castles in the air during more than half the time ; not castles in the building of irhich he could make himself happy, as he had done in the old MliS, LUPEX AND AMELIA ROPER, it\ dajs, but black castles, with cruel duDgeons, into which hardly a ray of light could find its way. In all these edifices his imagina- tion pictured to him Lily as the wife of Mr. Crosbie. He accepted that as a fact, and then went to work in his misery, making her as wretched as himself, through the misconduct and harshness of her husband. He tried to think, and to resolve what he would do ; but there is no task so hard as that of thinkiug, when the mind has an objection to the matter brought before it. I'he mind, under such circumstances, is like a horse that is brought to the water, but refuses to driak. So Johnny returned to his home, still doubting whether or no he would answer Amelia's letter. And if he did not answer it, how would he conduct himself on his return to Barton Crescent ) - I need hardly say that Miss Roper, in writing^her letter, had been aware of all this, and that Johnny's position had been care- fully prepared for him by his affectionate sweetheart. CHA.PTER XI. SOCIAL LIFB. Mr. and Mbs. Lupex had eaten a sweetbread together in much connubial bliss on that day which had seen Cradell returning to Mrs. Roper's hospitable board. They had together eaten a sweet- bread, with some other delicacies of the season, in the neighbour^ hood of the theatre, and had washed down all unkindness with bitter beer and brandy-and-water. But of this reconciliation Cradell had not heard ; and when he saw them come together into the drawing-room, a few minutes after the question he had addressed to Miss Spruce, he was certainly surprised. Lupex was not au ill-natured man, nor one naturally savage by disposition. He was a man fond of sweetbread and little dinners, and one to whom hot brandy-and-water was too dear. Had the wife of his bosom been a good helpmate to him, he might have gone through the world, if not respectably, at any rate without open disgrace. But she was a woman who left a man no solace except that to be found in brandy-and-water. For eight year^ they had been man and wife ; and sometimes — I grieve to say it — he had been driven almost to hope that she would commit a mar- ried woman's last sin, and leave him. In his misery, any mode of escape would have been welcome to him. Had his energy been sufficient he would have taken his scene-painting capabilities off to Australia, — or to the farthest shifting of scenes known on the world's stage. But he was an easy, listless, self-indulgent man_>^ and at any moment, let his misery be as keen as might be a little dinner, n few soft words, and a glass of brandy-and-water would SOCIAL LIFE. 129 ''It would be difficult to make you ashamed of anything, I believe/ "But let me tell you this, Mrs. Lupex, you're not going to destroy the respectabilily of this house by your goings on.'' " It was a bad day for me when I let Lupex bring me into it." '' Then pay your bill, and walk out of it," said Amelia, waving her hand towards the door. '' I'll undertake to say there shan't be any notice required. Only you pay mother what you owe, and you're free to go at once." '' I shaU go just when I please, and not one hour before. Who are you, you gipsy, to speak to me in this way ? " ''And as for going, go you shall, if we have to call in the police to make you." Amelia, as at this period of the fight she stood fronting her foe with her arms akimbo, certainly seemed to have the best of the battle. But the bitterness of Mi:s. Lupex's tongue had hardly yet produced its greatest results. I am inclined to think that the married lady would have silenced her who was single, had the fight been allowed to rage, — ^always presuming that no resort to grap- pling-irons took place. But at this moment Mrs. Roper entered the room, accompanied by her son, and both the combatants for a moment retreated. " Amelia, what's all this ? " said Mrs. Roper, trying to assume a look of agonized amazement. "Ask Mrs. Lupex," said Amelia. " And Mrs. Lupex will answer," said that lady. " Your daughter has oome in here, and attacked me — in such language — before Mr. Cradell,too '' " Why doesn't she pay what she owes, and leave the house 1 " said Amelia. "Hold your tongue," said her brother. "What she owes is no affiedr of yours." " But it's an afifair of mine, when I'm insulted by such a creature M that" " Creature ! " said Mrs. Lupex. " Fd like to know which is VOL. 1. K tjjo THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. most like' a creature ! But I'll tell you, what it is, Amelia Boper " Here, however, her eloquence was stopped, for Amelia had disappeared through the door, having been pushed out of the room by her brother* Whereupon Mrs. Lupez, having fbund a sofa convenient for the service, betook herself to hysterics. There for the moment we will leave her, hoping that poor Mr& Boper was not kept late out of her bed. ** What a deuce of a mess Eames will make of it if he marries that girl ! " Such was Oradell's reflection as he betook himself to his own room. But of his own part in the night's transactions he was rather proud than otherwise, feeling that the married lady's regard for him had been the cause of the battle which had raged. So, likewise, did Paris derive much gratification from the ten years' siege of Troy. CHAPTER XII. LILIAN DALB.BBOOMBS A BUTTERFLY. And now we will go back to Alliogton. The same morning that brought to John Eames the two letters which were given in the last chapter but one, brought to the Great House, among others, the following epistle for Adolphus Crosbie. It was from a countess, and was written on pink paper, beautifully creamlaid and scented, ornamented with a coronet and certaiu bingularly-en twined initials. Altogether, the letter was very fashionable and attractive, and Adolphus Crosbie was by no means sorry to receive it. •* CouRcy Castle, September, 186 — . "My dear Mr. Crosbie, — We have heard of you from the Gazeboes, who have come down to us, and who tell us that you are rusticatiug at a charming little village, in which, among other attractions, there are wood nymphs and water nymphs, to whom much of your time is devoted. As this is just the thing for your taste, I would not for worlds disturb you ; but if you should ever tear yourself away from the groves and fountains of AUingtoh, we shall be delighted to welcome you here, though you will find us very unromantic after your late Elysium. " Lady Dumbello is coming to us, who I know is a favourite of I yours. Or is it the other way, and are you a favourite of hers ? I did ask Lady Hartletop, but she cannot get away from the popr marquis^ who is, you know, so very infirm. The duke isn't at Gatherum at present, but, of course, I don't mean that that h^ anything to do with dear Lady Hartletop's not coming to us. I K 8 132 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. believe we shall have the house full, and shall not want for nymphs either, though I fear they will not be of the wood and water kind. Margaretta and Alexandrina particularly want you to come, as they say you are so clever at making a hoasefhl of people go off well. If you can give ns a week before you go back to manage the affairs of the nation, pray do. ** Yonrs very sinc5erely, *^R0S1KA De CbURCT." The Countess De Conrcy was a very old friend of Mr. Crosbie's ; that is to say, as old friends go in the world in which he had been living. He had known her for the last six or seven years, and had been in the habit of going to all her London balls, and dancing with her daughters everywhere, in a most good-natured and a^ble way. He had been intimate, from old family relations, with Mr, Mortimer Gazebee, who, though only an attorney of the more dis- tinguished kind, bad married the countess's eldest daughter, and now sat in Parliament for the city of Barchester, near to which Courcy Castle was situated. And, to tell the truth honestly at once, Mr. Crosbie had been on terms of great friendship with Lady De Couroy's daughters, the Ladies Margaretta and Alexandrina — perhaps especially so with the latter, though I would not have my readers suppose by my saying so that anything more tender than friendship had ever existed between them. Crosbie said nothing about the letter on that morning ; but during the day, or, perhaps, as he thought over the matter in bed, he made up his mind that he would accept Lady De Coxnrcy's invitation. It was not only that he would be glad to see the Gazebees, or glad to stay in the same house with that great master in the high art of fashionable life. Lady Dumbello, or glad to renew his friendship with the Ladies Margaretta and Alexan- drina. Had he felt that the circumstances of his engagement with Lily made it expedient for him to stay with her till the end of his holidays, he could have thrown over the De Courcys with- out a struggle. But he told himself that it would be well for him LILIAN DALE BECOMES A BUTTERFLY, 133 BOW to tear himself away from Lily ; or perhaps he said that it would be well for Lily that he should be torn away. He must not teach her to think tliat they were to live only in the sunlight of esuih other's eyes during those months, or perhajs years, which must elapse before their engagement could be carried out Nor must he allow her to suppose that either he or she were to depend solely upon the other for the amusements and employments of hfe. In this way he argued the matter vety sensibly within his own mind, and resolved, without much difficulty, that he would go to Courcy Castle, and bask for a week in the sunlight of the fashion which would be collected there. The quiet humdrum of his own fire^iide would come upon him soon enough I ** I think I shall leave you on Wednesday, sir," Crosbie said to the squire at breakfast on Sunday morning. ** Leave us on Wednesday ! " said the squire, who had an old- fashioned idea that people who were engage I to marry each other should remaiil together as long as circumstauces could be made to admit of their doing so. " Nothing wrong, is there ? " " O dear no ! But everything must come to an eud some day ; and as I must make one or two short visits before I get back to town, I might as well go on Wednesday. Indeed, I have made it as late as I possibly could." "Where do you go from here % " asked Bernard. *' Well, as it happens, only into the next county, — to Courcy Castle." And then there was nothing more said about the matter at that breakfast table. It had become their habit to meet together on the Sunday moniings before church, on the lawn belonging to the Small House, and on this day the three gentlemen walked down together, and found Lily and Bell already waiting for them. They generally had some few minutes to spare on those occasions before Mrs. Dale summoned them to pass through the house to church, and such was the case at present The squire at these times would stand in the middle of the grass-plot, surveying his grounds, and taking stock of the shrubs, and flowers, and fruit-trees round him ; for he 134 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. never forgot that it was all his own^ and would thus use this opportunity^ as he seldom came down to see the spot on other days. Mrs. Dale, as she would see him from her own window while she was tying on her bonnet, would feel that she knew what wis passing through his mind, and would r^ret that droumstance^ had forced her to be l^holden to him for such assistance. But, Iq truth, she did not know all that he thought at such times, '' It is mine,'' he would say to himself^ as he looked around on th^ pleasant place. '' But it is well for me that they should enjoy it. She is my brother's widow, and she is welcome ; — very welcome." I think that if those two persons had known more than they did of each other's hearts and minds they might have loved each other better. And then Crosbie told Lily of his intention. ^ On Wednqiek day ! " she said, turning almost pale with emotion as she heard this news. He had told her abruptly, not thinking, probably, that such tidings would a£fect her so strongly. " Well, yes. I have written to Lady De Couny and said Wednesday. It wouldn't do for me exactly to drop everybody, and perhaps " '' Oh, no ! And, Adolpbus, you don't suppose I begrudge your going. Only it does seem so sudden > does it not ! " " You see, I've been here over six weeks." " Yes ; you've been very good. When I think of it, what a six weeks it has been ! I wonder whether the difference seems to you as great as it does to me. I've left off being a grub, and begun to be a butterfly." ^'But you mustn't be a butterfly when you're married, Lily." '^ No ; not in that sense. ' But I meant that my real position in the world, — ^that for which I would fain hope that I was created, — opened to me only when I knew you and knew that you loved me. But mamma is calling us, and we must go through to church. Going on Wednesday ! There are only three days more, then!" LILIAN DALE BECOMES A BUTTERFLY. 135 ''Tes, just three days," he said, as he took: her on hUarm and passed through the house on to the road. "And when are we to see you again)'' die asked, as they reached the churchyard. ''Ah, who is to say that yetl We must ask the Chairman of Committees when he will let me go again.'' Then there was nothing more said, and they all followed the sqiiire through the little porch and up to the big family-pew ih which they all sat. Here the squire took his place in one special corner which he had occupied ever since his father's death, and from which he read the responses loufily and* plainly, — so loudly tind plainly, that the parish clerk could by no means equal him, though with emulous voice he still made the attempt. *' T' squire ^d like to be squire, and parson, and clerk, and everything'; so a would," the poor clerk would say, when complaining of the ill-usage which he suffered. If Lily's prayers were interrupted by lifer new sorrow, I think that her fault in that respect would be forgiven. Of course she had known that Crosbie was not going to remain at Allington much longer. She knew quite as well as he did the exact day on which his leave of absence came to its end, and the hour at which it behoved him to walk into his room at the General Committee Office. She had taught herself to think that he would remain with them up to the end of his vacation, and now she felt as a schoolboy would feel who was told suddenly, a day or two before the time, that the last week of his holidays was to be taken from him. The grievance would have been slight had she known it from the first ; but what schoolboy could stand such a shock, when the loss amounted to two-thirds of his remaining wealth % Lily did not blame her lover. She did not even think that he ought to stay. She would not allow herself to suppose that he could pro- pose anything that was unkind. But she felt her loss, and more than oiice, as she knelt at her prayers, she wiped a hidden tear from her eyes. Crosbie also w^ thinking of his depaii;ure more than he should 136 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. have done during Mr. Boyce's sermon. ^' It's easy listening to him," Mrs. Hearn used to say of her husband's successor. '* It don't give one much trouble following him into his argmnent&" Mr. Crosbie perhaps found the difficulty greater than did Mrs. Hearn, and would have devoted his mind more perfectly to the discourse had the argument been deeper. It is very hard, that necessity of listening to a man who says nothing. On this occa- sion Crosbie ignored 'the necessity altogether, and gave up his mind to the consideration of what it might be expedient that he should say to Lily before he went. He remembered well those few words which he had spoken in the first ardour of his love, pleading that an early day might be fixed for their marriage. And he remembered, also, how prettily Lily had yielded to him. ^' Only do not let it be too soon," she had said. Now he must unsay what he had then said. He must plead against his own plead- ings, and explain to her that he desired to postpone the marriage rather than to hasten it — a task which, I presume, must always be an unpleasant one for any man engaged to be married. "^ I might as well do it at once," he said to himself, as he bobbed his head forward into his hands by way of returning thanks for the termi- nation of Mr. Boyce's sermon. As he had only three days left, it was certainly as weU that he should do this at once. Seeing that Lily had no fortune, she could not in justice complain of a prolonged engagement. That was the argument which he used in his own mind. But he as often told himself that she would have very great ground of complaint if she were left for a day unnecessarily in doubt as to this matter. Why had he rashly spoken those hasty words to her in his love, betray- ing himself into all manner of scrapes, as a schoolboy might do, or such a one as Johnny Eames % What an ass he had been not to have remembered himself and to have been collected, — ^not to have bethought himself on the occasion of all that might be due to Adolphus Crosbie ! And then the idea came upon him whether he had not altogether made himself an ass in this matter. And as he gave his arm to Lily outside the church-door, he shrugged LILIAN DALE BECOMES A BUTTERFLY, 137 his shoolders while making that reflection. " It is too late now," he said to himself; and then turned round and made some sweet little loving speech to her. Adolphus Crusbie was a clever man ; and he meant also to be a true man, — if only the temptations to felfl^ood might not be too great for him. "Lily," he said to her, "will you walk in the fields after lunch ? " Walk in the fields with him ! Of course she would. There were only three days left, and would she not give up to him every moment of her time, if he would accept' of all her moments % And then they lunched at the Small House, Mrs. Dale having promised to join the dinner-party at the squire's table. The squire did not eat any lunch, excusing himself on the plea that lunch in itself was a bad thing. '' He can eat lunch at his own house," Mrs. Dale afterwards said to Bell. '' And I've often seen him take a glass of sheny." While thinking of this, Mrs. Dale made her own dinner. If her brother-in-law would not eat at her board, neither would she eat at his. And then in a few minutes Lily had on her hat, in place of that decorous, church-going bonnet which Crosbie was wont to abuse with a lover's privilege, feeling well assured that he might say what he liked of the bonnet as long as he wbuld praise the hat. ^ Only three days," she said, as she walked down with him across the lawn at a quick pace. But she said it in a voice which made no complaint, — ^whioh seemed to say simply this, — that as the good time was to be so short, they must make the most of it* And what compliment could be paid lo a man so sweet as that ? What flattery couM be more gratifying % All my earthly heaven is with you ; and now, for the delight of these immediately present months or so, there are left to me but three days of this heaven ! Oome, then ; I will make the most of what happiness is given to me. Crosbie felt it all as she felt it, and recognized the extent of the debt he owed her. '' 111 come down to them for a day at Christmas, thoiigh it be only for a day," he said to himself. Then he reflected that as such was his intention, it might be well n 138 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. for him to open hifi present conyersation with a promise to that eflfect. • . . " Yes, Lily ; there are only three days left now. But I wonder whether I suppose you'll all be at home at Chri8;tma8 % " " At home at Christmas ?— of Qourse we shall be at home. You don't mean to say you'll come to us ! " " Well ; I think I will, if you'U have me." " Oh ! that will make such a difference. Let me see. That will only be three months. And to have you here on Christmas Day ! I would sooner have you then than on any other day in the year." '' It will only be for one day, Lily. I shall come to dinner on Christmas Eve, and must go away the day after." " But you will come direct to our house ! " " If you can spare me a room." ^ Of course we can. So we could now. Only when you oame^ you know " Then she looked up into his face and smiled. ''When I came, I was the squire's friend and. your cousin's, rather than yours. But that's all changed now." " Yes ; you're my friend now, — mine specially. I'm to be now and always your own special, dearest friend ; — eh, . Adolphus f " And then she exacted from him the repetition of the promise wjl^ich he had so often given her. . By this time they had passed through the grounds of the Great House and were in the fields. ''.Lily/' said b^ ^peaJ^ing rather suddenly, and making her feel by his manner tl^t sopiething of importance was to be said ; '' I want to say a few wor<)» to you about^ — ^business." And he gave a little laugh, as hajipoke the last word, making her fiilly understand that he was not quite at his easa . . "Of course I'll listen. And, Adolphus, pray don't be afraid about me. What I mean is, don't think that I oan't bear cares and troubles. I can bear anything as long as you love me. I say tl^t because I'm a&aid I seemed to complain about your going. I difdn't mean to." LILIAN DALE BECOMES A BUTTERFLY, 139 ''I never thought you complained, dearest Nothing can be better than you are at all times and in every way. A man would be very hard to please if you didn't please him." " If I can only please you ^" '^ You do please me, in everything. Dear Lily, I think I found an angel when I found you. But now about this business. Perhaps I'd better tell you everything." " Oh, yes, tell me eyerything." " But then you mustn't misunderstand me. And if I talk about money, you mustn't suppose tl^at it has anything to do with my love for you." " I wish for your sake that I wasn't such a little pauper." " What J mean to say is this, that if I seem to be anxious about money, you must not suppose that that anxiety bears any reference whatever to my affection for you. I should love you just the same, and look forward just as much to. my happiness in marrying you, whether you were rich or poor. You understand that % " . Slya did not quite understand him ; but she merely pressed his ann, so as to encourage him to go on. She presumed that he intended to tell her something as to their future- mode of life — something which he supposed it .might not be pleasant for her to hear, and she was determined to show him that she would receive it pleasantly. "Tou know/' said he, "how anxious I have been that our marriage should not be delayed. To me, of course, it must be everything now to call you my own as soon as possible." In answer to which little declaration of love, she merely pressed his ann again, the subject being one on which she had not herself much to say. " Of course I must be very anxious, but I find it not so easy as I expected.'' "Ton know what I said, Adolphus. I said that I thought we had better wait I'm sure mamma thinks so. And if we can only see you now and then ^ ^ That will be a matter of course. But, 98 I was saying 140 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. Let me see. Yes, — all that waitiug will be intolerable to me. It is such a bore for a man when he has made up his mind on such a matter as marriage, not to make the change at once, especially when he is going to take to himself such a little angel as you are," and as he spoke these loving words, his arm was again put round her waist ; " but " and then he stopped. He wanted to make her understand that this change of intention on his part was caused by the unexpected misconduct of her uncle. He desired that she should know exactly how the matter stood ; that he had been led to suppose that her uncle would give her some small fortune ; that he had been disappointed,«and had a right to feel the disappointment keenly ; and that in consequence of this blow to his expectations, he must put off his marriage. But he wished her also to understand at the same time that this did not in the least mar his love for her ; that he did not join her at all in her uncle's fault. All this he was anxious to convey to her, but he did not know how to get it said in a manner that would not be offensive to her personally, and that should not appear to accuse himself of sordid motives. He had begun by declaring that he would tell her all ; but sometimes it is not easy, that task of telling a person eveiy thing. There are things which will not get themselves told. " You mean, dearest," said she, " that you cannot afford to marry at once." '^ Yes ; that is it. I had expected that I should be able, but '' Did any man in love ever yet find himself able to tell the lady whom he loved that he was very much disappointed on discovering that she had got no money ? If so, his courage, I should say, was greater than his love. Crosbie foimd himself unable to do it, and thought himself cruelly used because of the difficulty. The delay to which he intended to subject her was occasioned, as he felt, by the squire, and not by himself. He was ready to do his part, if only the squire had been willing to do the part which properly belonged to him. The squire would not ; and, therefore, neither LILIAN DALE BECOMES A BUTTERFLY, 141 could he, — not as yet. Justice demanded that all this should be understood ; but when he came to the telling of it, he found that the story would not form itself properly. He must let the thing gOy and bear the injustice, consoling himself as best he might by the reflection that he at least was behaving well in the matter. " It won't make me unhappy, Adolphus." '* Will it not ? *' said he. ^' As regards myself, I own that I cannot bear the delay with 80 much indifference." '' Nay, my love ; but you should not misunderstand me,'* she said, stopping and facing him on the path in which they were walking. " I suppose I ought to protest, according to the common rules, that I would rather wait. Young ladies are expected to say so. If you were pressing me to marry at once, I should say so, no doubt. But now, as it is, I will be more honest. I have only one wish in the world, and that is, to be your wife, — to be able to share everything with you. The sooner we can be together the better it wiU be, — at any rate for me. There ; will that satisfy you % " '* My own, own Lily ! " " Yes, your own Lily. You shall have no cause to doubt me, dearest. But I do not expect that I am to have everything exactly as I want it. I say again, that I shall not be unhappy in waiting. How can I be unhappy while I feel certain of your love ? I was disappointed just now when you ssdd that you were going so soon ; and I am afraid I showed it. But those little things are more unendurable than the big things." ** Yes ; that's very true." " But there are three more days, and I mean to enjoy them so much. And then you will write to me : and you will come at Christmas. And next year, when you have your holiday, you will come down to us again ; will you not % " ** You may be quite sure of that." '^ And so the time will go by till it suits you to come and take me. I shall not he unhappy." '' I, at any rate, shall be impatient." 142 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. " Ah, men always are impatient. It is one of their privileges, I suppose. And I don't think that a man ever has the same positive and complete satisfaction in knowing that he is loved, which a girl feels. You are my bird that I have shot at with my own gun ; and the assurance of my success is sufi&cient for my happiness." " You have bowled me over, and know that I can't get up again." " I don't know about can't. I would let you up quick enough, if you wished it." How he made his loving assurance that he did not wish it, never would or could wish it, the reader will readily understand. And then he considered that he might as well leave all those money questions as they pow stood. His real object had been to convince her that their joint ciircumstances did not admit of ^n immediate marriage ; and as to that she completely understopd him. Perhaps, during the next three days, some opportunity might arise for explaining the whole matter to Mrs. Dale. At any rate, he had declared his own purpose honestly, and no one could complain of him. On the following day they all rode over to Guestwick together, — the all consisting of the two girls, with Bernard and Crosbie. Their object was to pay two visits, — one to their very noble and highly exalted ally, the Lady Julia De Guest ; and the other to their much hiimbler and better known friend, Mrs. Eames. As Guestwick Manor lay on their road into the town, they performed the grander ceremony the first. The present Earl de Guest, brother of that Lady Fanny who ran away with Major Dale, was an unmarried nobleman, who devoted himself chiefly to the breed- ing of cattle. And as he bred very good cattle, taking infinite satisfaction in the employment, devoting all his energies thefelo, and abstaining from all prominently evil courses, it should be acknowledged that he was not a bad member of society. He was a thorough-going old Tory, whose proxy was always in the hsmd of the leader of his party ; and who seldom himself went near LILIAN DALE BECOMES A BUTTERFLY. 143 the metropolis, unless called thither by some occasion of cattle- showing. He was a short, stumpy man, with red cheeks and a round face ; who was usually to be seen till dinner-time dressed in a very old shooting coat, with breeches, gaiters, and very thick shoes. He lived generally out of doors, and was almost as great in the preserving of game as in the breeding of oxen. He knew every acre of his own estate, and every tree upon it, as thoroughly as a lady knows the ornaments in her drawing-room. There was no gap in a fence of which he did not remember the' exact bearings, no path hither or thither as to which. he cduld not tell the why and the wherefore. He had been in* His earlier years a poor man as regarded his income, — ^very poor, seeing that he was an earl. But he was not at present by 'any means an impoverished man, haying been taught a lesson by the miseries of his father and grandfather, arid having learned to live within his means. Now, as he was goihg down the vale of years, men said that be was becoming rich, and that he had ready money to spend,-^a position in which no' Lord de Guest had found himself for many generations back. His father and grandfather had been known as spendthrifts ; and now men said that this earl was a miser. There was not much of nobility in his appearance ; but they greatly mistook Lord de Guest who conceived that on that account his pride of place was not dear to his soul. His pberagd dated back to the time of King Johh, and there were but three lords in England whose patents had been conferred before his own. He knew what privileges were due to him on behalf of his blood, and was not disposed to abate one jot of them. He was not loud in demanding them. As. he went through the world he sent "no trumpeters to the right or left, proclaiming that the Earl de Guest was coming. When he spread his board for his friends, which be did but on rare occasions, he entertained them simply, with a mild tedious, old-fashioned courtesy. We may say that, if properly treated, the earl never walked over anybody. But he could, if ill- treated, be grandly indignant ; and if attacked, could hold his own against all the world. He knew himself to be every inch an 144 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON, earl, pottering about after bis oxen witb bis muddy gaiters and red cbeeks, as mucb as tbougb be were glittering witb stars in courtly royal ceremonies among bis peers at Westminster ; — ay, more an earl tban any of tbose wbo use tbeir nobility for pageant purposes. Woe be to bim wbo sbould mistake tbat old coat for a badge of rural degradation ! Now and again some unlucky wigbt did make sucb a mistake, and bad to do bis penance very uncomfortably, . Witb tbe earl liv^d a maiden ^sister, tbe Lady Julia. Bernard Dale's fatber bad, in eariy life, run away witb one sister, but no suitor bad been fortunate enougb to induce tbe Lady Julia to run witb bim. Tbeiiefore sbe still lived, in maiden blessedness, as mistress of Guestwick Manor ; and as sucb bad no mean opinion of tbe bi^ position wbicb destiny bad called upon ber to filL Sbe was a tedious, dull, virtuous old woman, wbo gave berself infinite credit for baving remained all ber days in tbe bome of ber youtb, probably forgetting, in ber present advanced years, tbat ber temp- tations to leave it bad not been strong or numerous. Sbe gene- rally spoke of ber sister Fani\y witb some little contempt, as tbougb tbat poor lady bad degraded berself in marrying a younger brotber. Sbe was as proud of ber own position as was tbe earl ber . brotber^ but ber pride was maintained witb more of outward sbow and less of inward nobility. It was bardly enougb for ber tbat tbe world sbould know tbat sbe was a De Guest, and tberefore sbe bad assumed little pompous ways and certain airs of con- descension wbicb did not make ber popular witb ber neigbbours. Tbe intercourse between Guestwick Manor and Allington was not very frequent or very cordial. Soon after tbe running away of tbe Lady Fanny, tbe two families bad agreed to acknowledge tbeir connection witb eacb otber, and to let it be known by the world tbat tbey were on friendly terms. Eitber tbat course was necessary to tbem, or tbe otber course, of letting it be known tbat tbey were enemies. Friendsbip was tbe less troublesome, and tberefore tbe two families called on eacb otber from time to time, and gave eacb otber dinners about once a year. Tbe earl regarded LILIAN DALE BECOMES A ^U'TTERFLY. 14S the squire as a man who had deserted his politics, and had thereby forfeited the respect due to him as an hereditary land magnate* ; and the squire was wont to be-little the earl as one who under stood nothing of the outer world. At Guest wick Manor Bernard was to some extent a fayoutite. He was actually a relative, having in his veins blood of the De Guests, and was not the less a favourite because he was the heir to AUington, and because the blood of the Dales was older eveh*^ than that of the noble family to which he was allied. When Bernard should come to be the squire, then indeed there might be cordial relations between Guestwick Manor and Allington; unless, indeed, the earl's heir and the squire's heir should have some fresh cause of ill-will between themselves. They found Lady Julia sitting in her drawing-room alone, and introduced to her Mr. Crosbie in due form. The fact of Lily's engagement was of course known at the manor, and it was quite understood that her intended husband was now brought over that he might be looked at and approved. Lady Julia made, a very elaborate curtsey, and expressed a hope that her youug friend might be made happy in that sphere of life to which it had pleased God to call her. " I hope I shall, Lady Julia,"^ said Lily, with a little laugh ; ** at any rate I mean to try.*' " We all try, my dear, but many of us fail to try with suffioiiBnt energy of purpose. It is only by doing our duty that we oan'hope to be happy, whether in single life or in married." " Miss Dale means to be a dragon of perfection in the perform- ance of hers," said Crosbie. " A dragon ! " said Lady Julia. " No ; I hope Miss Lily Dale will never become a dragon." And then she turned to her nephew. It may be as well to say at once that she never forgave ^r. Crosbie the freedom of the expression which he had used. He had been in the drawing-room of Guestwick Manor for two minutes only, and it did not become him to talk about dragons. ** Bernard," she said, "I heard from your mother yesterday.^ ^ I VOL. f. 1 146 THE SMALL HOUSJS AT ALLINGTON. am afraid she does not seem to be very Btiong." And then there was a little conyersation, not yerj interesting in its nature, between the aunt and the nephew as to the general health of Lady Fanny. '' r didn't know my aunt was so unwell,'' said Bell. " She isn't ill," said Bernard. " She never is ill ; but then she is never well." '' Your aunt," said Lady Julia, seeming to put a touch of sarcasm into the tone of her voice as she repeated the word — '^ your aunt has never enjoyed good health sinoe she left this house ; but that is a long time ago." " A very long time,*" said Crosbie, who was not accustomed to be left in his chair silent. ^ You, Dale, at any rate, can hardly remember it." '* But I can remember it," said Lady Julia, gathering herself up. '' I can remember when my sister Fanny was recognized as the beauty of the country. It is a dangerous gift, that of beauty." " Very dangerous," said Crosbie. Then Lily laughed again, and Lady Julia became more angry than ever. What odious man was this whom her neighbours were going to take into their very bosom ! But she had heard of Mr. Crosbie before, and Mr. Crosbie also had heard of her. " By-the-by, Lady Julia," said he, " I think I know some very dear friends of yours." « Very dear friends is a very strong word. I have not many very dear friends." " I mean the Gazebees. I have heard Mortimer Gazebee and Lady Amelia speak of you," Whereupon Lady Julia confessed that she did know the Gaze- bees. Mr. Gazebee, she said, was a man who in early life had wanted many advantages, but still he was a very estimable person. He was now in Parliament, and she understood that he was making himself useful. She had not quite approved of Lady Amelia's marriage at the time, and so she had told her very old friend Lady De Courcy ; but And then Lady Julia said many words in LILIAN DALE BECOMES A BUTTERFLY, 147 praise of Mr. Gazebee, which seemed to amount to this ; that he was an excellent sort of man, with a full conviction of the too great honour done to him by the earl's daughter who had married him, and a complete consciousness that even that marriage had not put him on a par with his wife's relationS| or even with his wife. And then it came out that Lady Julia in the course of the next week was going to meet the Gazebees at Courcy Castle. " I am delighted to think that I shall have the pleasure of seeing you there/' said Crosbie. '' Indeed ! " said Lady Julia. " I am going to Courcy on Wednesday. That, I fear, will be too early to allow of my being of any service to your ladyship." Lady Julia drew herself up, and declined the escort which Mr. Crosbie had seemed to offer. It grieved her to find that Lily Dale's future husband was an intimate friend of her friend's, and it especially grieved her to find that he was now going to that friend's house. It was a grief to her, and she showed that it was. It also grieved Crosbie to find that Lady Julia was to be a fellow guest with himself at Courcy Castle ; but he did not show it. Ha expressed nothing but smiles and civil self-coagratulai i^n on the Hiatter, pretending that he would have much delight in again meet- ing Lady Julia ; but, in truth, he would have given much could he have invented any manoeuvre by which her ladyship might have been kept at home. '* What a horrid old woman she is," said Lily, as they rode back down the avenue. " I beg your pardon, Bernard ; for, of course, she is your aunt." " Yes ; she is my aunt ; and though I am not very fond of her, I deny that she is a horrid old woman. She never murdered anybodj, or robbed anybody, or stole away any other woman's lover." *< I should think not," said Lily. " She says her prayers earnestly, I have no doubt," continued Beniard, '^ and gives away money to the poor, and would sacrifice to-morrow anj desire of her own to her brother's wish. I acknow- I. 2 148 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. ledge that she is ugly, and pompous, and that, b^ng a woman, she ought not to have such a long black beard on her upper lip." " I don't care a bit about her beard," said Lily. " But why did she tell me to do my duty ? I didn't go there to have a sermon preached to me." '' And why did she talk about beauty being, dangerous ? " said Bell. " Of course, we p,ll knew what she meant." ''I didn't know at all what she meant,*' said Lily : " and I don't know now." '' I think she's a charming woman, and I shall be especially civil to her at Lady De Courcy's," said Crosbie. And in this way, saying hard things of the poor old spinster whom they had left, they made their way into Guestwick, and again dismounted at Mrs. Eames's door. CHAPTER XIII. A^TMIT TO GUBSTWICK. As the parfy rrora Allington rode up the narrow High-street o{ Guesbwick, and across the market-square towards the small, respectable, but yery dull row of new houses in which Mrs. Eames lived, tb'e people of Guestwick were all aware that Miss Lily Dale was escorted by her future husband. The opinion that she # had been a very fortunate giil was certainly general among the Guestwickians, though it was not always expressed in open or generous terms. '' It was a great match for her,'' some said, but shook their heads at the same time, hinting that Mr. Crosbie's life in London was not all that it should be,, and suggesting that she might have been more safe had she been content to bestoiii^ herself upon some country neighbour of less dangerous pretensions. Others declared that it was no such great match after all. They knew his income to a penny, and belie Ved that the young people would find it very difficult to keep a house in London unless the old squire intended to assist them. But, nevertheless, Lily was envied Us she rode through the town with her handsome lover by her side. And she was very happy. I will not deny that she had some feeling of triumphant satisfaction in the knowledge that she was^ envied. Such a feeling on her part was natural, and is natural to all men and women who are conscious that they have done well in the adjustment of their own affairs. As she herself had said, he was her bird, -the spoil of her own guu, the product of such capacity as. she had in her,, on which she was to live, and, if pos'' 15© 7HE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. Bible, to thriye during the remainder of her life. Lily folly re- cognized the importance of the thing she waa doing, and, in soberest guise, had thought much of this matter of marriage. But the more she thought of it the more satisfied she was that she was doing well. And yet she knew that there was a risk. He who was now everything to her might die ; nay, it was possible that he might be other than she thought him to be ; that he might neglect her, desert her, or misuse her. But she had resolved to trust in everything, and, having so trusted, she would not provide for herself any possibility of retreat Her ship should go out into the middle ocean, beyond all ken of the secure port from which it had sailed ; her army should fight its battle with no hope of other safety than that which victory gives. All the world might know that she [loved him if all the world chose to inquire about the matter. She triumphed in her lover, and did not deny even to herself that she was triumphant. Mrs. Eames was delighted to see them. It was so good in Mr Crosbie to come over and call upon such a poor, forlorn woman as her, and so good in Captain Dale ; so good also in the dear girls, who, at the present moment, had so much to make them happy at home at AUington ! Little things, accounted as bare civilkies by others, were esteemed as great favours by Mrs. Eames. *^ And dear Mrs. Dale 7 I hope she was not fatigued when we kept her up the other night so unconscionably late ? " Bell and Lily both assured her that their mother was none the worse for what she had gone through ; and then Mrs. Eames got up and left the room, with the declared purpose of looking for John and Mary, but bent, in truth, on the production of some cake and sweet wine which she kept under lock and key in the little parlour. " Don't let's stay here very lon^" whispered Crosbie. " No, not very long,'' said Lily. " But when you oome to see my friends you mustn't be in a hurry, Mr. Crosbie." ^' He had his turn with Lady Julia," said Bell, ^' and we must have ours now." A VISIT TO GUESTWICK 151 *' At any rate Mrs. Eames won't tell us to do our duty and. to beware of being too beautiful," said Lily. Maiy and John came into the room before their mother returned ; then came Mrs. Eames, and a few minutes afterwards the cake and wine arrived. It certainly was rather dull, as none of the party seemed to be at their ease. The grandeur of Mr. Crosbie was too great for Mrs. Eames and her daughter, and John was almost silenced by the misery of his position. He had not yet answered lififis Roper's letter^ nor had he e^en made up his mind whether he would answer it or no. And then the sight of Lily's happiness did not fill him with all that friendly joy which he should perhaps have felt as the Mend of her childhood. To tell the truth, he bated Orosbie, and so he had told himself ; and had so told his sister also very frequently since the day of the party. " I tell you what it is, Molly," he had said, '' if there was any way of doing it, I'd fight that man." '* What ; and make Lily wretched f " "She'll never be happy with him. I'm sure she won't. I don't want to do her any harm, but yet I'd like to fight that^man, — if I only knew how to manage it." And then he bethought himself that if they could both be slaughtered in such an encounter it would be the only .fitting tennination to the present state of things. In that way, too, there would be an escape from Amelia, and, at the present moment, he saw none other. When he entered the room he shook hands with all the party from Allington, bu4^, as he told his sister afterwards, his flesh crept when he touched Crosbie. Orosbie, as he contemplated the Eames fiunily sitting stiff and ill at ease iu their own drawing-room chairs, made up his mind vthat it would be well that his wife should see as little of • John Elames as might be when she came to U)Qdon y — not thi^t he was in any way Jealous of her lover. He had learned everything firom Lily, — all, at least, that Lily knew, — and regarded' the matter '^iiuther as a good joke. " Don't see . him toooften^" he-had said to her, "for fear he should make an ass of hsz THE SVALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. himaalf." lily bad told him eyerything, — ^all that she could tell ; but yet he did uot in the lea9t|oomprehend that Lily had, in truth, a warm affection for the young man whom he despised. " Thank you, no," said Crosbie. " I neyer do take wine in the middle oft the day.," *' But a bit of cake ? " And Mra. Eames by her look implored him to do her so much honour. She implored Captain Dale, also,, but they were both inexorable. I do not know that the two girls were at all more inclined to eat and drink than the two men ; but they understood that Mrs. Eames would be broken-hearted if no one partook of her delioacies. The little sacrifices of society are all made by women, as are also the great sacrifices of life. A man who is good for anything is always ready for his duty, and so is a good woman always ready for a sacrifice. "We really must go now," said Bell, "because of the horses.** And under this excuse they got away. " You will come over before you go back to London, John I " said Lily, as he came out with the intention of helping her mount, from which purpose, however, he was forced to recede by the iron^ will of Mr. Crosbie. " Yes, I'll eome over again — ^before I go. Good-by." "Good-by, John," said Bell. " Good-by, Eames," said Captain- Dale. Crosbie, as he seated himself in the saddle, made the veiy slightest sign of recognition, to which his rival wonld not con- descend to pay any attention. " I'll manage to have a fight with him in some way," said Eames to himself as he walked back through the passage of his mother's house. And Crosbie, as he settled his feet in the stirrups, felt that he disliked the young man more and more. It would be monstrous to suppose that there could be aught of jealousy in the feeling ; and yet he did dislike him very strongly, and felt almost angry with lily for ask> ing him to come again to AUington. " I must put an end to all that," he said to himself as he rode silently out of town. " You must not snub my friends, sir," said Lily, smiling as she q[)oke, but yet with something of earnestness in her voice. They A VISIT. TO GUESTWICK. 153 were out of the town by this time, and Croebie had hardly uttered a word since thej had left MrB. Eames's door. They were now on the high road, and Bell and Bernard Dale were somewhat in ad- vance of them. "I never snub anybody," said Grosbie, petulantly; **that is, unless they have absolutely deserved snubbing." '' And have I deserved it ? Because I seem to have got it," said Lily. " Nonsense, Lily. I never snubbed you yet, and I don't think it likely that I shall begin. But you ought not to accuse me of not being civil to your friends. In the first place I am as civil to them as my nature will allow me to be. And, in the second place " " Well ; in the second place 1 " " I am not <|uite ^ure tbilt you are very wise to encourage that young man's — friendship jusii at present." '^ That means, I suppose, that I am very wrong to do so ? ** '' No, dearest, it does not mean that. If I meant so I would tfll you so honestly. I mean just what I say. There can, I suppose, be no doubt that he has filled himself with some kind of ilpmantic attachment for you,^a foolish kind of love which I don't suppose he ever expected to gratify, but the idea of which lends a sort of grace to his life. When he meets some young woman fit to be his wife he will forget all about it, but till then he will go about fancjring himself a despairing lover. And then such a young man as John Eames is very apt to talk of his fiemcies." ''I don't believe for a moment that he would mention my name to any one." " But, Lilj, perhaps I may know more of young men than you do." " Yes, of oourse you da" ^ And I can assure you that they are generally too well inclined to make free with the names of girls whom they think that they like. You must not be surprised if I am unwilling that any man should make free with your name." 154 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. After this Lily was silent for a minute or two. She felt that an injustice was being done to her and she was not inclined to put up with it, but she oould not quite see where the injustice lay. A great deal was owing from her to Crosbie. In very much she was bound to yield to him, and she was anxious to do on his behalf even more than her duty. But yet she had a strong conviction that it would not be well that she should give way to him in everything. She wished to think as he thought as far as possible, but she could not say that she agreed with him when she knew that she di£fered from him. John Eames was an old friend wham she oould not abandon, and so much at the present time she felt herself obliged to say. " But, Adolphus '' " Well, dearest % " '^ Tou would not wish me to be unkind to so very old a friend as John Eames ? I have known him all my life, and we have all of us had a very great regard for the whole family. His father was my uncle's most particular friend." '< I think, Lily, you must understand what I mean. I don't want you to quarrel witk any of them, or to be what you call un- kind. But you need not give special and pressing invitations to this young man to come and see you before he goes back to London, and then, to come and see you directly you get to London. You tell me that he has some kind of romantic idea of being in love with you ; — of being in despair because you are not in love with him. It's all great nonsense, no doubt, but it seems to me that under such drcumstances you'd bettet — ^just leave him alone." Again Lily was silent. These were her three last days^ in which it was her intention to be especially happy, but above all things io .make him especially happy. On no account would she say to him- 'sharp words, or encotirage in4ier own heart a feeling of animtisity against him^ and yet she believed him^ to be wrong ; and so believing could hardly bring herself to bear the injury. Such was her nature, as a Dale. And let it be remembered that very many who can devote themselves for great sacrifices, cannot bring them- A VISIT TO GUESTWICK. 155 ^1^ to the endurance of little injurieB. lily could have given up aDj gratification for her lover, but she could not allow herself to have been in the wrong, believing herself to have been in the right " I have asked him now, and he must oome," she said. "But do not press him to come any more/' '^ Certainly not, after what you have said, Adolphus. If he comes over to Allington, he will see me in mamma's house, jta which he has always been made welcome by her. Of ooip:8e. I underatand perfectly ^" " You understand what, Lily ? " But she had stopped herself, fearing that she might say that which would be offensive to him if she continued. " What is it you understand, Lily? " ^'Do not press me to go on, Adolphus. As far as I can, I will do all that you want me to do." " Tou meant to «ay that when you find ^yourself an inmate of my house, as a matter of course you could not ask your own friends to come and see you. Was that gracious % ** ^ Whatever I may have meant to say, I did not say that Nor IB truth did I mean it. Pray don't go on about it now. These are to be our last days, you know, and we shouldn't waste them by talking of things that are unpleasant. After all poor Johnny £ames is nothing to me ; nothing, nothing. How can any one be anything to me when I think of you ? " But even this did not bring Crosbie back at once into a pleasant homour. Had Lily yielded to him and confessed that he was right, he would have made himself at once as pleasant as the sun in May. But this she had not done. She had simply abstained from her argument because she did not choose to be vexed, and had declared her continued piurpose of seeing Eames on his promised visit. Crosbie would have had her acknowledge herself wrong, and would have delighted in the privilege of forgiving her. But Lily Dale was one who did not greatly relish forgiveness, or any necessity of being foigiven. So they rode on, if not in silence, without much 156 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON, joy in their conversation. It was now late on the Monday after- noon, and Crosbie was to go early on the Wednesday mornings What if these three last days should oome to ]^ marred with such terrible drawbacks as these ! Bernard Dal« had not spoken a word to his cousin of his suit, since they had been interrupted by Crosbie and Lily as they were lying on the bank by the ha-ha. fie had danced with her again and again at Mrs. Dale's party, and had seemed to revert to his old modes of conversation without difficulty. Bell, therefore, had believed the matter to be over, and was thankful to her cousin, declaring within her own bosom that the whole matter shoidd be treated by her as though it had never happened. To' ^o one, — ^not even to her mother, would she tell it* To such reticence she bound herself for his sake, feeling that he would be best, pleased that it should be so. But now as they rod^. on'.together, far in advance of the other couple, he again returned, to the subject. <' Bell,'' said he, '< am J to have any hope % " ** Any hope as to what, Bernard ?" ^ I hardly know whether a man is bound to take a single answer on such a subject. But this I know, that if a man's heart is con- cerned, he ifi not very willing to do so." " When that answer has been given honestly and truly " '' Oh, no doubt. I don't at all suppose that. you were.die^onest or false when you refused to allow me to speak to you." *' But, Bernard, I did not refuse to allow you to speak to me." - ** Something very like it. But, however, I have no doubt you were true enough. But, Bell, why should it be so 1 If you were in love with any one else I could understand it" ^ I am not in love with any one else." ''Exactly. And there are so many reasons why you and I should join our fortunes together." '' It cannot be a questiou; of fratune, Bernard." ''Do listen to m^ Do let me speak, at any rate. I presume I may at least suppose that yeiUi'db not^dislike me." " Oh, no;" A VISIT TO GUESTWJCX. rs7 '' And though you might not be willing, ,tp accept any. man's 'hand merely x)n a question of fortune, Bi^lyctbo ^eust that our \hiarriage would be in eyery way s^uitable as n^gards money should not set you against it. Of my own love for you I will not speak further, as I do not doubt that you believe what I say; but sLoiild you not question your own feelings yery closely before you determine to oppose the wishes of all those who are nearest to you ?" " Do you mean mamma, Bernard 2 " " Not her especially, though I cannot but think she would like a marriage that would keep all the family together, and would give you an equal claim to the property to that which I have.'* " That would not have a featherVweight with mamma/' " Have you asked her ? " ** No, I have mentioned the matter to no one." "Then you cannot know. And as to my uncle, I have the means of knowing that it is the great desire of his life. I must say that I think some consideration for him should induce you to pause before you give a final answer, even though no consideration for me should have any weight with you." " I would do more fit?r you tjhan for hi.m,-^much more." ^ Then do this for me. Allow me to think that I tiave not yet had an answer to my proposal ; give me to this day month, to Christmas ; till any time that you like to name, so that I may think that it is not yet settled, and may tell uncle Christopher that such is the case." ^' Bernard, it would be useless.'' ^ It woidd at any rate show him that you are willing to think of it" '' But I am not willing to think of it ; — not in that way. ^I do know my own mind thoroughly, and I should be very wrong if I were to deceive you." "And you wish me to give that as your only answer to n\y uncle 1" " To tell the truth, Bernard, I do not much care T^hat you may iS8 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. say to my uncle in this matter. He can have no right to inter- fere in the disposal of my hand, and therefore I need not regard his wishes on the subject. I will explain to yon in one word what my feelings are about it. I would accept no man in opposition to mamma's wishes ; but not even for her could I accept any man in opposition to ray own. But as concerns my undo, I do not feel myself called on to consult him in any way on such a matter." " And yet he is the head of our family.** '* I don't care anything about the family, — not in* tftat way."" " And he has been very generous t.o you all." " That I deny. He has not been generous to mamma. He ir very hard and ungenerous to mamma. He lets her have that^ house because he is anxious that the Dales should seem to be respectable before the world; and she lives in it, because she thinks it better for us that she should do so. If I had my way, . she should leave it to-morrow— or, at any rate, as soon as Lily is married. I would much sooner go into Guestwick, and live as the Eames do." " I think you are ungrateful. Bell." '' No ; I am not ungratefuL And as to consulting, Bernard, — I should be much more inclined to consult you than him about my marriage. If you would let me look on you altogether as a brother, I should think little of promising to marry no one whom you did not approve." But such an agreement between them would by no means have suited Bernard's views. He had thought, some four or five weeks back, that he was not personally very anxious for this match. He had declared to himself that he liked his cousin well enough ; that it would be a good thing for him to settle himself ; that his undo was reasonable in his wishes and sufficiently liberal in his offers ; and that, therefore, he would marry. It had hardly occurred t him as probable that his cousin would reject so eligible an offer, and had certainly never occurred to him that he would have to suffer anything from such rejection. He had entertained' none o£ A VISIT TO GUESTWICK. 159 that feeliog of which lovers speak when they dedare that they are staking their all upon the hazard of a die. It had not seemed to him that he was staking anything, as he gently told his tale of languid love, lying on the turf by the ha-luw He had not regarded the possibility of disappointment, of sorrow, and of a deeply-yezed mind. He would have felt but little triumph if accepted, and had not thought that he could be humiliated by any rejection. In this frame of mind he had gone to his work ; but now he found, to his own surprise, that this girl's answer had made him absolutely onhappy. Having expressed a wish for this thing, the very expres- sion of the wish made him long to possess it. He found, as he rode along silently by her side, that he was capable of more earnestness of desire than he had known himself to possess. He was at this moment unhappy, disappointed, anxious, distrustful of the future, and more intent on one special toy than he had ever been before, even as a boy. He was vexed, and felt himself to be sore at heart He looked round at her, as she sat silent, quiet, and somewhat sad upon her pony, and declared to himself that she was very beautiful, — that she was a thing to be gained if still there might be the possibility of gaining her. He felt that he really loved her, and yet he was almost angry with himself for so feeling. Why had he subjected himself to this numbing weakness ? His love had never given him any pleasure. Indeed he had never hitherto acknowledged it; but now he was driven to do so on finding it to be the source of trouble and pain. I think it is open to us to doubt whether, even yet, Bernard Dale was in love with his counsin; whether he. was not rather in love with his own desire. But against himself he found a verdict that he was in love, and was angry with himself and with all the world. '* Ah, Bell," iie said, coming close up to her, '' J wish you could tmderstand how I love you." And, as he spoke, his cousin uncon- sciously recognized more of affection in his tone, and less of that spirit of bargaining which had seemed to pervade all his former pleas, than she bad ever found before. i6o THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON, *' And do I not love yon f Have I not offered to be to you In all respects ae aaister f " '* That is nothing. Such an offer to me now is simply laughing at me. Bell, I tell you what, — I will not give you up. The fact is, you do not know me yet, — ^not know me as you must know any man before you choose him for your husband. Ton and Lily are not alike in this. Ton are cautious, doubtful of yourself, and perhaps, also, somewhat doubtful of others. My heart is set upon this, and I shall stiU try to succeed." ^ Ah, Bernard, do not say that \ fielieve me, when I tell you that it can never be." ** No ; I will not believe you. I will not allow myself to be made utterly wretched. I tell you fairly that I wiH not believe you. I may surely hope if I choose to hope. No, Bel^ I will never give you up, — unless, indeed, I should see you become another man's wife." As he said this, they all turned in through the squire's gate, and rode up to the yard in which it was their habit to dismount from their horses. CHAPTER XIV. JOHN EAME8 TAKES A WALK. John Eames watched the party of cavaliers as they rode away from his mother's door, and then started upon a solitary walk, as soon as the noise of the horses' h )of8 had passed away out of the street. He was by no means happy in his mind as he did so. Indeed, he was overwhelmed with care and trouble, and as he went along very gloomy thoughts passed through his min \ Had he not better go to Australia, or Vancouver's Island, or 1 I will not name the places which the poor fellow suggested to him? self as possible terminations of the long journeys which he might not improbably be called upon to take. That very day, just before the Dales had come in, he had received a second letter from his darling Amelia, written very closely upon the heels of the first. Why had he not answered her ? Was he ill 1 Was he . untrue. '? No ; she would not believe that, and therefore fell back upon the probability of his illness. If it was so, she would rush down to see him. Nothing on earth should keeip her from the bedside of her betrothed. If she did not get an answer from her beloved John by return of post, she would be down with him at Guest wick by the express train. Here was a position for such a young man as John Eames ! And of Amelia Boper we may say that she was a young woman who would not give up her game, as long as the least chance remained of her winning it. " I must go somewhere," John said to himself, as he put on his slouched hat and wance.*ed forth throu£ch the back streets of Guestwick. What would his TOL. I. M *t i62 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTOJST. mother say when she heard of Amelia Roper ) What would she say wheu she saw her ? He walked away towards the Manor, so that he might roam about the-Guestwick woods in solitude. There was a path with a stile, leading off from the high road, about half a mile beyond the lodges through which the Dales had ridden up to the house, and by this path John Eames. turned in, and went away till be had left the Manor house behind him, and was in the centre of the Guest- wick woods. He knew the whole ground well, haying roamed there ever since he was first allowed to go forth upon his walks alone. He had thought of Lily Dale by the hour together, as he j^ had lost himself among thqjoa^trees ; bat in those former days he had thought of her with some pleasure. Now be could only think of her as of one gone from him for ever ; and then he had also to thiuk of her whom he had taken to himself in Lily's place. Young men, very young men, — men so young that it may be almost a question whether or no they have as yet reached their manhood, — are more inclined to be earnest and thoughtful when alone than they ever are when with others, eyen though those others be their elders. I fancy that, as we grow old ourselves, we are apt to forget that it was so with us ; and, forgetting it, we do not believe that it is so with our children. We constantly talk of the thoughtlessness of youth. I do not know whether we might not more appropriately speak of its thoughtfiilnes& It is, how- ever, n(» doubt, true that thought will not at once produce wisdom. It may almost be a question whether such wisdom as many of us have in our mature years has not come from the dying out of the power of temptation, rather than as the results of thought and resolu- tion. Men, full fledged and at their work, are, iot the most part, too busy for much thought ; but lads, on whom the work of the world has not yet fallen with all its pressure, —they have time for thinking. And thus John Eames was thoughtful. They who knew him best accounted him to be a gay, good- hearted, somewhat reckless young man, open to temptation, but also open to good impressions ; JOHN EAMES TAKES A WALK. 163 as to whom no great s\iccess oould be predicted, but of whom hia friends might fairly hope that he might so live as to bring up on them no disgrace aud not much trouble. But, above all things, they would have called him thoughtless. In so calling him, they judged him wrong. He was ever thinking, — thinking much of the world as it appeared to him, and of himself as he appeared to the world ; and thinking, also, of things beyond the world. What was to be his fate here and hereafter f Lily Dale was gone from him,^and Amelia Koper was hanging round his neck like a millstone ! What, under such circumstances, was to be his fate here aud hereafter ^ ^\^e may say that the difficulties in his way were n(;t as yet very great. As to Lily, indeed, he had no room for hope ; but, then, his love for Lily had, perhaps, been a sentiment rather than a pas- sion. Most young men have to go through that disappointment, and are enabled to bear it without much injury to their prospects or happiness. And in after-life the remembrance of such love is a blessing rather than a curse, cuabliag the possessor of it to feel that in those early days there was something within him of which he had no cause to be ashamed. I do not pity John Eames much in regard to Lily Dale. And then, as to Amelia Roper, had he achieved but a tithe of that lady's experience in the world, or possessed a quarter of her audacity, surely such a difficulty as that need not have stood much in his way I What could Amelia do to him if he fairly told her that he was not minded to marry her % 4)lii very touth he had never promised to do so. He was in no way bound to her, not even by honour. Honour, indeed, with such as her! But men are cowards before women until they become tyrants ; and are easy dupes, till of a sudden they recognize the fact that it is pleasanter to be the victimizer than the victim, — and as easy. There are men, indeed, who never learn the latter lesson. But, though the cause for fear was so slight, poor John Eames was thoroughly afraid. Little things which, in connection with so deep a sorrow as his, it is almost ridiculous to mention, added to his embarrassments, and made an escape from them seem to him M 2 Is 164 TH& SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. * to be impossible. He could not return to London without going to Burton Crescent, because his clothes were there, and because he owed to Mrs Roper some small siim of money which on his return to London he would not have immediately in his pocket. He must therefore meet Amelia, and he knew that he had not the courage to tell a girl, fftoe to face, that he did not love her, after he l^ bad|beep/6ncef induced to say that he]did do so. His boldest concep- tion did not go beyond the writing of a letter in which he would re- nounce her, and removing himself altogether from that quarter of the town in which Burton Crescent was situated. But then about his clothes, and tliat debt of his ? And what if Amelia should in the meantime come down to Guestwick and claim him ? Could he in his mother's presence declare that she had no right to make such claim ] The difficulties, in truth, were not very great, but they were too heavy for that poor young clerk from the Income- tax Office. You will declare that he must have been a fool and a coward. Yet he could read and understand Shakspeare. He knew much, — by far too much, — of Byron's poetry by heart. He was a deep critic, often writing down his criticisms in a length journal which ff. he kept. He could write quickly, and with understanding ; and I C^/ may declare that men at his office had already ascertained that he was no fool. He knew his business, and could do it, — as many men failed to do who were much less foolish before the world. And as to that matter of cowardice, he would have thought it the greatest blessing in the world to be shut up in a room with Crosbie, having permission to fight with him till one of them should have been brought by stress of jfattle to give up his claim to Lily Dale. Eames was no coward. Hie feared no man on earth. But he was terribly afraid of Amelia Roper. He wandered ' about through the old Manor woods very ill at ease. The post from Guestwick went out at seven, and he must at once make up his mind whether or no he would write to Amelia on that day. He must also make up his mind as to what he would y to her. He felt that he should at least answer her letter, let JOHN EAMES T^KE^S A WALK. 165 . his answer be what it might. Should he promise to marry her, — say, in ten or twelve year^' time ? Should he tell her that he wad a blighted beiag, unfit for love, and with humility entreat of her that he might be excused t Or should he write to her mother, telling her that Burton Cresceutjwould not suit him any longer, promising her to send the balance on receipt of his next payment, and asking her to send his clothes in a bundle to the Income-tax Office % Or should he go home to his own mother, and boldly tell it all to her 9 He at last resolved that he must write the letter, and as he com- posed it in his mind he sat himself down beneath an old tree whioh stood on a spot at which many of the forest tracks met and crossed each other. The letter, as he framed it here, was not a bad lette- , if only he could have got it written and posted. Every word of it he chose. with precision, and in his mind he emphasized every ex- pression which told his mind clearly and justified his purpose. '^ He acknowledged himself to have been wrong in misleading his correspondent, and allowing her to imagine that she possessed his heart. He had not a heart at her disposal He had been weak not to write to her before, having been deterred from doing so by the fear of giving her pain ; but now he felt that he was bound in honour to tell her the truth. Having so told her, he would not return to Burton Crescent, if it would pain her to see him there. * He would always have a deep regard for her," — Oh, Johnny ! — "and would hope anxiously that her welfare in life might be com- plete." That was the letter, as he wrote it on the tablets of his mind under the tree ;|but the getting it put on to paper was a task, as he knew, of greater difficulty. Then, as he repeated it to him- self^ he fell asleep. *' Young man," said a voice in his ears as he slept. At first the voice spoke as a voice from his dream without waking him, but when it was repeated, he sat up and saw that a stout gentleman was standing over him. • For a moment he did not know where he was, or how he had come there ; nor could he recollect, as he saw the trees about him^ how long he had been in the wood. But he knew i66 THE SMALL HOL&E AT ALLINGTOJST. the stout gentleman well enough, though he had not seen him for moi*e than two jears. •* Young man/' said the voice, " if you want to catch rheumatism, that's the way to do it. Why it's young Eames, isn't it ?" " Yea, my lord,'* said Johnny, raising himself up so that he wa» now sitting, instead of lying, as he looked vp into the earl's rosy face. " I knew your father, and a very good man he was ; only he shouldn't have taken to farming. People think they can farnt without learning the trade, but that's a very great mistaka I can farm, because I've learned it. Don't yoa think you'd better get up 1" Whereupon Johnny raised himself to his feet. " Not but what you're very welcome to lie there if you like it. Only, in October, you know *' " I'm afraid I'm trespassing, my lord,** said Eames. ' " I came in oflF the pathy and " " You're welconae ; you're very welcome. If yo«11 come up to the house. 111 give you some luncheon.'^ This hospitable offer, however, Johnny declined^ alleging that it was late, and that he was going home to dinner. " Come alofag,'^ said the eari. ** You can't go any shorter way than by the house. Dear, dear, how weU I remember your feither. He was a much cleverer man than I am, — ^very much ; but he didn't know how to send a beast to market any better than a ehild. By-the-by, they have put you into a public office,, haven't they 1 " " Yes, my lord." "And a very good thing, tooy — a very good thing, indeed.. But why were you asleep in the wood 1 It isn't warm, you know. I call it rather cold." And the earl stopped, and looked at him, scrutinizing him, as though resolved to inquire into so deep a mystery. '' I was taking a walk, and thinking of something,. 1 sat dowa." "Leave of absence, I suppose I" *YeB» my lord." JOHN E AMES TAKES A WALK. 167 "Have you got. into trouble 1 You look as though you were in trouble. Your poor fiither used to be in trouble.*' ** I haven't taken to farming," said Johnny, with an attempt at a )smile. " Ha, ha, ha, — quite right. No, don't take to farming. Un- less you learn it, you know, you might just as well take to shoemaking; — just the same. You haven't got into trouble, then ; eh r' " No, my lord, not particularly." ^'Not particularly ! I know very well that young men do get into trouble when they get up to London. If you want any — any advice, or that sort of thing, you may come to me ; for I knew your father weli Do you like shooting ?** " I never did shoot anything," "WeU, perhaps better not. To tell the truth, Vm not very fond of Jfeuiig men who take to shooting without having anything to shoot at. By-the-by, now I think of it, I'll send your mother some game:" It may^ however, here be fair to mention that game very often came from Guestwick Manor to Mrs. Eames. "And look here, cold pheasant for breakfast is the best thing I know of. Pheasants at dinner are rubbish, — mere rubbish. Here we are at the house. Will you come in and have a glass of ^wnef But this John Eames declined, pleasing the earl better by doing so than lie w'ould have done by accepting it. N6t that the lord was inhospitable or insincere in his offer, but he preferred that ^ch a one as John Eames should receive his proffered familiarity without too much immediate assurance. He felt that Eames was a little in awe of his companion's rank, and he liked him the better for it. He liked him the better for it, and was a man apt to remember his likings. ** If yon won't come in, good -by," and he gave Johnny his hand. ** Good evening, my lord," said Johnny. "And remember this; it is the deuce of a thing to have rheu- matism in your loins. I wouldn't go to sleep under a tree, if I 168 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLiNOTON. were you, — not in October. But you're always welcome to ga anywhere about the place." " Thank you, my lord." ''And if you should take to shooting, — ^but I dare say you won't ; and if you come to trouble, and want advice, or that sort of thing, write to me. I knew your father well." And so they parted, Eames returning on his road towards Guestwick. For some reason, which he could not define, he felt better afb^r his interview with the earl. There had been something about the fat, good-natured, sensible old man, which had cheered himy- in spite of his sorrow. "Pheasants for dinner are rubbish, — ^mere rubbish,'' he said to himself, over and ovw again, as he went along the road ; and they were the first words which he spoke to his mother^ after entering the house. ^ I wish we had some of that sort of rubbish,'^ said she. '^ So you will, to-morrow >" and then he described to her h» interview. '* The earl was, at any rate, quite right about lying upon the ground. I wonder you can be so foolish. And he is right about your poor father too. But you have got to change your boots*; and we shall be ready for dinner almost immediately." But Johnny Eames, before he sat down to dinner, did write hi» letter to Amelia, and did go out to post it with his own hands,* — much to hi» mother's annoyance. But the letter would not get itself written in that strong and appropriate language which had come to him as he was roaming through the woods. It was a bald letter, and somewhat cowardly withaL *' Dear Amelia (the letter ran), — I have received both of yours > and did not answer the first because I felt that there waa a difficulty in expressing what I wish to> say ; and now it will be better that you should allow the subject to stand over till I aok back in town. I shall be there in ten days firom this*. I havir been quite well^ and am so ; but of course am much obliged by jour inquiries. I know jou. will think thia veiy cold i but whea JOHN EAMES TA^ES A WALK. 169 I tell you ererything, you will agree with me that it is best. If I were to marry, I know that we should be unhappy, because we should have nothing to live on. If I have ever said anything to deceive you, I beg your pardon with all my heart ; — ^but perhaps it will be better to let the subject remain till we shall meet again in London. " Believe me to be " Your most sincere friend, " And I may say admirer, — [Oh, John Eames !] "John Eames/' CHAPTER XV. THB LAST DAT. Last days are wretched days ; and so are last moments wretched moments. It is not the fact that the parting is coming which makes these days and moments so wretched, but the feeling that something special is expected from them, which something they always fail to produce. Spasmodic periods of pleasure, of affection, or even of study, seldom fail of disappointment when premeditated. When last days are coming, they should be allowed to come and to glide away without special notice or mention. And as for last moments, there should be none such. Let them ever be ended, even before their presence has been acknowledged. But Lily Dale had not yet been taught these lessons by her world's experience, and she expected that this sweetest cup of which she had ever drank should go on being sweet — sweeter and still sweeter — as long as she could press it to her lips. How the dregs had come to mix themselves with the last drops we have already seen ; and on that same day — on the Monday evening-^- the bitter tdsk still remained ; for Orosbie, as they walked about through the gardens in the evening, found other subjects on which he thought it necessary to give her sundry hints, intended for her edification, which came to her with much of the savour of a lecture. A girl, when she is thoroughly in love, as surely was the case with Lily, likes to receive hints as to her future life from the man to whom she is devoted ; but she would, I think, prefer that such hints should be short, and that the lesson should be implied rather than declared;— -that they should, in fact, be hints and not THE LAST DAY. 171 lectures. Chrosbie, who was a man of tact, who understood the world and had been dealing with women for many yeara, no doubt under- stood all this as well as we do. Bat he bad come to entertain a notion that he was an injured man, that be was giTing very much more than was to be given to him, and that therefore he was entitled to take liberties which might not fairly be within the reach of another lover. My reader will say that in all this he was un- generous. Well ; he was ungenerous. I do not know that I have ever said that much generosity was to be expected from him. He had some principles of right and wrong under the guidance of which it may perhaps be hoped that he will not go utterly astray ; but his past life had not been of a nature to make him unselfish. He was ungenerous, and Lily felt it, though she would not acknowledge it even to herself. She had been very open with him, — acknowledging the depth of her love for him ; telling him that he was now all in all to her ; that life without his love would be impossible to her : and in a certain way he took advantage of these strong avowals, treating her as though she were a creature utterly in his power ; — as indeed she was. On that evening he said no more of Johnny Eames, but said much of the difficulty of a man establishing hiniself with a wife in London, who had nothing but his own moderate income on which to rely. He did not in so many words tell her that if her friends * could make up for her two or three thousand pounds, — that being much less than he had expected wheii he first made his ofier,— this terrible difficulty would be removed ; but he said enough to make her understand that the world would call him very imprudent in taking a girl who had nothing. And as he spoke of these things, Lily remaining for ihe most part silent as he did so, it occurred to him that he might talk to her freely of his past life, — more freely than he would have done had he feared that hi9 might lose her by any such disclosures. He had no fear of lofi^ng her. Alas 1 might it not be' possible that he had some such hope ! ' He told he)* that his {)fl(st life had been expeili§ive ; that, though h^ was not iti debt, he had live? up to every shilling that he had, .172 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. and that he had contracted habits of expenditure which it would be almost impossible for him to lay aside at a day's notice. Then he spoke of entanglements, meaning, aa he did so, to explain more fully what were their nature, — ^but not daring to do so when he found that Lily was altogether in the dark as to what he meant. No ; he was not a generous man, — ^a very ungenerous man. And yet, during all this time, he thought that he was guided by prin- ciple. '* It will be best that I should be honeiyt with her/* he said to himself. And then he told himself, scores of times, that when making his offer he had expected, and had a right to expect, that she would not be penniless. Under those circumstances he had done the best he could for her^-offering her his heart honestly, with a quick readiness to make her his own at the earliest day that she might think possible. Had he been more cautious, he need not have fallen into this cruel mistake; but she, at any rate, could not quarrel with him for his imprudence. And still he was determined to stand by his engagement and willing to marry her, although, as he the more thought of it, he felt the more strongly that he would thereby ruin his prospects, and thrust beyond his own reach all those good things which he had hoped to win. As he continued to talk to her he gave himself special credit for his gene- rosity, and felt that he was only doing his duty by her in pointing out to her all the difficulties which lay in the way of their marriage. At first Lily said some words intended to convey an assurance that she would be the most economical wife that man ever had, but she soon ceased from such promises as these. Her perceptions were keen, and she discovered that the difficulties of which he was afraid were those which he must overcome before his marriage, npt any which might be expected to overwhelm him after it. '' A cheap and nasty manage would be my aversion,'' he said to her. '' It is that which I want to avoid, — chiefly for your sake." Then she promised him that she would wait patiently for his time — '^ even though it should be for seven years^" she said, looking up into his &oe and trying to find there some sign of approbi^tion. " That's nonsense," he said. ^'People are not patriarchs now-a-days. I THE LAST DAY. 173 suppose we shall have to wait two years. And that's a deace of a bore, — a terrible bore." And tbere was that in the tone of his voice which grated on her feelings, and made her wretched for the moment. As he parted with her for the night on her own side of the little bridge which led from one garden to the other, he put his arm round her to embrace her and kiss her, as he had often done at that spot. It had become a habit with them to say their evening farewells there, and the secluded little nook amongst the shrubs was inexpressibly dear to Lily. But on the present occasion she made an effort to avoid his caress. She turned from him — very slightly, but it was enough, and he felt it. " Are you angry with me ? " he said. " Oh, no 1 Adolphus ; how can I be angry with you ? " And then she turned to him and gave him her face to kiss almost before he had again asked for it. '' He shall not at any rate think that I am unkind to him, — and it wiU not matter now," she said to herself, as she walked slowly across the lawn, in the dark, up to her mother's drawing-room window. ** Well, dearest," said Mrs. Dale, who was there alone ; " did the beards wag merry in the Great Hall this evening % " That was a joke with them, for neither Crosbie nor Bernard Dale used a razor at his toilet. " Not specially merry. And I think it was my fault, for I have a headache. Mamma, I believe I will go at once to bed." " My darling, is there anything wrong % " " Nothing, mamma. But we had such a long ride ; and then Adolphus is going, and of course we have so much to say. To- morrow will be the last day, for I shall only just see him on Wed- nesday morning ; and as I want to be well, if possible, I'll go to bed." And so she took her candle and went. When Bell came up, Lily was still awake, but she begged her sister not to disturb her. " Don't talk to me. Bell," she said " Pm trying to make myself quiet, and I half feel that I shoul(i get childish if I went on talking. I have almost more to think' of than I know how to manage." And she strove, not altogether 174 THE SMALL HOUSE A I ALLINGTOK. unsuccessfully, to speak with a cheery tone, as though the cares which weighed upon her were not unpleasant in their nature. Then her sister kissed her and left her to her thoughts. And she had great matter for thinking ; so great, that many hours sounded in her ears from the clock on the stairs before she brought her thoughts to a shape that satisfied herself. She did so bring them at last, and then she slept. She did so bring them, toiling over her work with tears that made her pillow wet, with heart-burning and almost with heart-breaking, with much doubt- ing, and many anxious, eager inquiries within her own bosom as to that which she ought to do, and that which she could endure to do. But at last her resolve was taken, and then she slept. It had been agreed between them that Crosbie should come down to the Small House on the next day after breakfast, and remain there till the time came for riding. But Lily determined to alter > this arrangement, and accordingly put on her hat immediately after breakfast, and posted herself at the bridge, so as to intercept her lover as he came. He soon appeared with his friend Dale, and she at once told him her purpose. " I want to have a talk with you, Adolphus, before you go in to mamma ; so come with me into the field." " All right," said he. '^ And Bernard can finish his cigar on the lawn. Mamma and Bell will join him there.'' "AH right," said Beniard. So they separated; and Crosbie went away with Lily into the field where they had first learned to know each other in those haymaking days. She did not say much till they were well away from the house ; but answered what words he chose to speak, — not knowing very well of what he spoke. But when she considered that they had reached the proper spot, she began very abruptly. " Adolphus," she said, " I have something to say to you, — some, thing to which you must listen very carefully." Then he looked at her, and at once knew that she was in earnest. " This is the last day on which I could say it," she continued ; THE LAST DAY, i75 "and I am very glad that I have not let the last day go by without saying it. I should not have known how to put it in a letter/' **Whatisit, Lily]" " And I do not know that I can say it properly ; but I hope that you will not be hard upon me. Adolphus, if you wish that all this between us should be over, I will consent." " Lily ! " " I mean what I say. If you wish it, I will consent ; and when 1 have said so, proposing it myself, you may be quite sure that I shall never blame you, if you take me at my word." " Are you tired of me, Lily ] " "No. I shall never be tired of you, — never weary with loving ycu. I did not wish to say so now ; but I will answer your question boldly. Tired of you ! I fancy that a girl can never grow tired of her lover. But I would sooner die in the struggle than be the cause of your ruin. It would be better — in every way better." " I have said nothing of being ruined." " But listen to me. I should not die if you left me, — not be utterly broken-hearted. Nothing on earth can I ever love as I have loved you. But I have a God and a Saviour that will be enough for me. I can turn to them with content, if it be well that you should leave me. I have gone to them, and " But at this moment she could utter no more words. She had broken down in her eflTort, losing her voice through the strength of her emotion. As she did not choose that he should see her overcome, she turned from him and walked away across the grass. Of course he followed her ; but he was not so quick after her but -^jj^that time had been giv^jito her to recover herself. " It is true," she said. " I have the strength of which I tell you. Though I have given myself to you as your wife, I can bear to be divorced from you now, — now. And, my love, though it may sound heart- less, I would sooner be so divorced from you, than cling to you as a pog that must drag you down under the water, and drown you in trouble and care. I would ; — indeed I would. If you go, of ■k 176 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. course that kind of thing is over for me. But the world has moi'e than that, — much- niore ; and I would make myself happy ; — ^yes, my love, I would be happy. You need not fear that." " But, Lily, why is all this said to me here to-day ? " " Because it is my duty to say it. I imderstand all your position now, though it is only now. It never flashed on me till yesterday. When you proposed to me, you thought that I, — ^that I had some fortune." " Never mind that now, Lily." " But you did. I see it all now. I ought perhaps to have told you that it was not so. There has been the mistake, and we are both suffqrars. But we need not make the suffering deeper than needs be. My love, you are free,-^from this moment. And even my heart shall not blame you for accepting your freedom." " And are you afraid of poverty % " he asked her. " I am afraid of poverty for you. You and I have lived dif- ferently. Luxuries, of which I know nothing, have been your daily comforts. I tell you I can bear to part with you, but I cannot bear to become the source of your unhappiness. Yes ; I will bear it ; and none shall dare in my hearing to ^peak against you. I have brought you here to say the word j nay, more than that, — to advise you to say it." He stood silent for a moment, during which he held het by the hand. She was looking into his face, but he was looking away into the clouds ; striving to appear as though he was the master of the occasion. But during those moments his mind was wracked ^y with doubt. What if he should take her at her word ? Some few would say bitter things against him, but such bitter things had been said against many another man without harming him. Would it not be well for both if he should take her at her word ? She would recover and love again, as other girls had done ; and as for him, he would thus escape from the ruin at whichlhad been gazing i^j for the last week past. For it was ruin, — utter ruin. He did ^ / love her ; so he declared to himself. But was he a man who ought tQ throw the world away for love ? Such men there were ; but THE LAST DAY, 177 was he one of them % Could he be happy in that small house, somewhere near the New Road, with five children and horrid mis- girings as to the baker^s billl Of all men Hying, was not he the last that should have allowed himself to fall into such a trap ? All this passed through his mind as he turned his face up to the clouds with a look that was intended to be grand and noble. ^* Speak to me, Adolphus, and say that it shall be so." Then his heart forgave him, and he lacked the courage to extri* cate himself from his trouble ; or, as he afterwards said to himself| he had not the heart to do it. " If I understand you, rightly, lily, all this comes from no want of love on your own part 9 " *' Want of love on my part 1 But you should not ask me that.'' " Until you tell me that there is such a want, I will agree to no parting." .Then he took her hand and put it within his arm. " No, Lily ; whatever inay be our cares and troubles, we are , bound together, — indissolubly." "Are we ? " said she ; and as she spoke, her voice treml led, and ^ her hand shook. **' Much too firmly for any such divorce as that. No, lily, I claim the right to tell you all my troubles ; but I shall not let you go-" " But, Adolphus — " and the hand on his arm was beginning to cling to it again. '* Adolphus," said he, *' has got nothing more to say on that ^abject. He exercises the right which he believes to be his own, and chooses to retain the prize which he has won." She was now clinging to him in very truth. '' Oh, my love ! " she said. . '' I do not know how to say it again. It is of you that I am thinking j— of you, of you I " " I know you are ; but you have misunderstood me a little ; that's alL" " Have I ? " Then listen to me again, once more, my heart's own darling, my love, my husband, my lord ! If I cannot be to you at once like Ruth, and never cease from coming after you, my thoughts to you shall be like those of Ruth : — if aught but death part thee VOL, I. N AfS THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. and me, may God do so to me and more als6." Then she fell ut>on his breast and wept. He still hardly understood the depth of her character. He was liot himself deep enongh to conlprehend it aU. But yet he was awed by her great love, and exalted to a certd.in solemnity of feel- ^ng which for the time made him rejoice in his late decision. For a few hours he inras minded to throw the world behind him, and Wear this woman, as such a woman should be worn, — ^as a comforter to him in all things, and a strong shield aigainst great troubles. ** Lily," he said, " my own Lily ! " '^ Yes, your own, to take when you please, and leave untaken while you please ; and as much your own in one way as in the other." Then she looked up again, and essayed to laugh as she did so. " You will think I am frantic, but I am so happy. I don't care about your going now ; indeed I don't. There ; you may go now, this minute, if you like it." And she withdrew her hand from him. '^ I feel so differently fromwha^i I havis done for the last few days. I am so glad you have spoken to me as you did. Of coiirse I ought to bear all those things with you. But I cannot be un- happy about it noYf. I wonder if I went to work and made a lot of things, whether that would help ? " " A set of shirts for me, for instance % " r " I could do that, at any rate." " It may come to that yet, some of these .days." '* I pray God that it may." Then again she was serious, and the tears came once more into her eyes. " I pray Grod that it may. To be of use to. you, — ^to work ^or you, — to do something for you that may have in it some sober, earnest purport of usefulness ; — that is what I want above all things. . I want to be with you at once that I may be of service to you. Would that you and I were alone together, that I might do everything for you. I sometimes think that a very poor man's wife is the happiest, because she does do everything." " You shall do everything very soon," said he j and then they sauntered along pleasantly through the momiiig hours, and when THE LAST day: i^^ they again appeared at Mrs. Dale's table, Mrs. Dale and Bell were astonished at Lily's brightness. All her old ways had seemed to return to her, and she made her little sancy speeches to Mr. Crosbie as she had used to do when he was first becoming fascinated by her sweetness. " You know that you'll be such a swell when you get to that countess's house that you'll forget all about AUington." " Of course I shall," said he. *'And the paper you write upon will be all over coronets, —that is, if ever you do write. Perhaps you will to Bernard some day just to show that you are istaying at a castle." ...^^ "You certainly- don't deserve that he should write to you/' said^^ Mrs. 1M&. " I don't expect it for a~ moment, — not till he gets baek tjf London -aiid finds that he has nothing else to do at his office. Bu/ I should so like to see how you' and Lady Julia get on togethe^i It was quite cleajr that she regtirded y6u as an ogre ; didn*t she Bell 1 " " So many people are ogres to Lady Julia," said Bell. *'l beHere Lady Julia to be a very good woman,^? said 'Mrs. Dale^ "and r won't have her abused.'* " Particularly before poor Bernard, who is her* pet nephew," said Lily. *< I dare say Adolphus will become a pet too when she has been a week with him at Co urcy Castle. Do try and cut Bernard out." From all which Mrs. Dale learned th it some care which had sat heavy on Lily's heart was now lightened, if not altogether removed. She had asked no questions of her daughter, but she had perceived during the past few days that Lily was in trouble, and she kne# that such trouble had arisen from her engagement. She had asked no questions, but of course she had been told what was Mr. Crosbie's income, und had been made to understand that it was not to be considered as amply sufficient for all the wants of matrimony. There was little difficulty in guessing what was the source of Lily% care, and as little in now perceiving that something had been said between them by which that care had been reheved. N 2 i8a THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGION. After that thej all rode, and the afternoon went bj pleasantly. It was the last daj indeed, but Lilj had determined that she would not be sad. She had told him that he might go now, and that she would not be discontented at his going. She knew that the morrow would be very blank to her ; but she struggled to live up to the spirit of her promise, and she succeeded. They all dined at the Great House, even Mrs. Dale doing so upou this occasion. When they had come in from the gai*den in the evening, Crosbie talked more to Mr& Dale than he did even to Lily, while Lily sat a little distant, listening with all her ears, sometimes saying a low-toned word, and happy beyond expression in the feeling that her mother and her lover should understand each other. And it most be understood that Crosbie at this time was fully determined to conquer the difficulties of which he had thought so much, and to fix the earliest day which might be possible for his marriage The solemnity of that meeting in the field still hung about him, and gave to his present feelings a manliness and a truth of purpose wliich were too generally wanting to them. If only those feelings would last ! But now he talked to Mrs. Dale about her daughter, and about their future prospects, in a tone which he could not have used had not his mind for the time been true to her. He had never spoken so freely to Lily's mother, and at no time had Mrs. Dale felt for him so much of a mother^s love. He apologized for the necessity of some delay, arguing that he could not endure to see his young wife without the comfort of a home of her own, and that he was now, as he always had been, afraid of incurring debt. Mrs. Dale disliked waiting engagements, — as do all mothers, — ^but she could not answer unkindly to such pleading as this. '^ Lily is so very young," she said, *^ that she may well wait for a year or so." '^For seven years/' said Lily, jumping up and whispering into her mother's ear. '* I shall hardly be six-and-twenty then^ which is. not at all too old." And so the evening passed away very pleasantly. / THE LAST DAY. i8i " God bless you, Adolphus ! " Mrs. Dale said to hira, as she parted with him at her own door. It was the first time that she had called him by his Christian name. '* I hope you understand how much we are trusting to you." "I do, — I do," said he, as he pressed her hand. Then as he walked back alone, he swore to himself, binding himself to the oath with all his heart, that he would be tnie to those women, — both to the daughter and to the mother ; for the solemnity of morning was still upon him. He was to start the next morning before eight, Bernard having undertaken to drive him over to the railway at Guestwick. The breakfast was on the table shortly after seven ; and just as the two men had come down, Lily entered the room, with her hat and shawl. '^ I said I would be in to pour out your tea," said she ; and then she sat herself down over against the teapot It was a silent meal, for people do not know what to say in those iast minutes. And Bernard, too, was there ; proving how true is the adage wMch says, that two are company, but that three are not. I think that Lily was wrong to come up on that last morn- ing ; but she would not hear of letting hini start without seeing him, when her lover had begged her not to put herself to so much trouble. Trouble ! Would she not have sat up all night to see even the last of the top of his hat % Then Bernard, muttering something about the horsie, went away. ^ I have only one minute to speak to you/' said she, jumping up, ^ and I have been thinking all night of what I had to say. It is 80 easy to think, and so hard to speak." ^* My darling, I understand it all." " But you must understand this, that. I will never distrust you. I will never ask you to give me up again, or say that I could be happy without you. I could not live without you ; that is, with- out the knowledge that you are mine. But I will never be im<< patient, never. Pray, pray believe me ! Nothing shall make me distrust you." ** Dearest Lily, I will endeavour to give you no cause." ^1^2 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON, " I know you will not ; but I specially wanted to tell you that. And you will write, — '.very soon ] " " Directly J get. there." ** And as often as you can. But I won't bother you ; only youx letters will make me so h^ppy. .1 shall be so proud when they come to me. I shall be afraid of writing too much to ypjn, for fear I should tire you." " You will never do that." "Shall I not? But you must write first, you know. If you could only understand how I shall live -upon your letters] And now good-by. There are the wheels. God bless you, my own, my own ! " And she gave herself up into his arms, as she had given herself up into his heart. She stood at the door as the two men got into the gig, end, as it passed down through the gate, she hurried out upon the terrace, from whence she could see it for a few yards down the lane. Then she ran from the terrace to the gate, and, hurrying through the gate, made her way into the churchyard, from the farther comer of which she could see the heads of the two men till they had made the turn into the main road beyond .the parsonage. There she re- mained till the very sound of the wheels no longer reached her ears, stretching her eyes in the direction they had taken. Then she turned round slowly and made her way out at the churchyard gate, which opened on to the road close to the front door of the Small House. " I should like to punch his head," said Hopkins, the gardener, to himself, as he saw the gig driven away and saw Lily trip after it, that she might see the last of him whom it carried. '* And I wouldn't think nothing of doing it ; no more I wouldn't," Hopkins added in his soliloquy. It was generally thought about the place that Miss Lily was Hopkins's ^Eivourite \ though he showed it chiefly by snubbing her more frequently than he snubbed her sister. Lily had evidently intended to return home through the front 4oor ; but she changed her purpose before she reached the house THE LAST DAY. 1^5 and made her way slowly back through the churchyard, and by the gate of the Great House, and by the garden at the back of it, till she crossed the little bridge. But on the bridge she rested awhile, leaning against the railing as she had often leant with him, and thinking of all that had passed since that July day on which she had first met him. On no spot had he so often told her of his love as on this, and nowhere had she so eagerly sworn to him that she would be his own dutifill loving wife. ^' And by God's help so I will,'' she said to herself, as she walked firmly up to th.e house. '^ He has gone, mamma, '^ she said, as she entered the breakfast-room. " And now we'll go back to our wo^k-a-day ways ; it has been all Sunday for me for the last six weeks." CHAPTER XVL MB. GR08BIE XEETS AN OLD OIiEBOTMAN ON HIS WAT TO OOUROY 0A8TLV. For the first mile or two of their journey Crosbie and Bernard Dale sat, for the most part, silent in their gig. Lily, as she ran down to the churchyard comer and stood there looking after them with her loving eyes» had not been seen by them. But the sgint of her devotion was still strong upon them both, and they felt that it would not be well to strike at once into any ordinary topic of conversation. ' And» moreover, we may presume that CrosUe did feel much at thus parting from such a girl as Lily Dale, with whom he had lived in close intercourse for the last six weeks, and whom he loved with all his heart,— with all the heart that he had for such purposes. In those doubts as to his marriage which had troubled him he had never expressed to himself any disapproval of Lily. He had not taught himself to think that she was other than he would have her be, that he might thus give himself an excuse for parting from her. Nor as yet, at any rate, had he had recourse to that practice, so common with men who wish to free themselves from the bonds with which they have permitted themselves to be bound. Lily had been too sweet to his eyes, to his touch, to all his senses for that. He had enjoyed too keenly the pleasure of being with her, and of hearing her tell him that she loved him, to allow of his being personally tired of her. He had not been so spoilt by his club life but that he had taken exquisite pleasure in all her nice country ways, and soft, kind-hearted, womanly humour. He was by no means tired of Lily. Better than any of hia London f,^A£.M^ pleasures was this pleasure of making love in the green fields to Lily Dale. It was the consequences of it that affrighted him. Babies with their belongings would come ; and dull evenings, over a dull fire, or else the pining grief of a disappointed woman. lie would be driven to be careful as to his clothes, because the ordering of a new coat would entail a serious expenditure. He could go no moie among countesses and their dau^ters, because it would be out of the question that his wife should visit at their houses. All the victories that he had ever won must be given up. He was thinking of this even while the gig was going round the oomer near the parsonage house, and while Lil/s eyes were still blessed with some view of his departing back ; but he was think- ing, also^ that moment, that there might be other victory in store for him ; that it might be possible for him to learn to like that fireside, even though babies should be there, and a woman opposite to hitn intent on baby cares. He was struggling as best he knew how ; for the solemnity which Lily had imparted to him had not yet vanished from his spirit. ^' I hope that, upon the whole, you feel contented with your visit t " said Bernard to him, at last. ** Contented % Of course I do." '^That is easily said ; and civility to me, perhaps, demands as much. But I know that you have, to some extent, been dis- appointed.'' ** Well ; ye& I have been disappointed as regards money. It is of no use denying it" " I should not mention it now, only that I want to know that you exonerate me;" ^ I have never blamed you ; — neither you, nor anybody else ; unless, indeed, it has been myself/' ^ You meim that you regret what you've d(we % " *' Na ; I don't mean that. I am too devotedly attached to that dear girl whom we have just left to feel any regret that I have ei^aged myself to her.' But I do think that had I managed better with your unde things might have been different." i8fr THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON, ^ I doubt it. Indeed I know that it is not so ; and can aasure you that you need not make yourself unhappy on that score. I bad thought, as you weU know, that he would have done some- thing for Lily ; — something, though npt as much as he always in- tended to do for BelL But you may be sure of this ; that he had tnade up his mind as to what he would do^ Nothing that you or I could have said would have changed himJ' "Well ; we woft't say anything more about it," said Crosbie. Then they weqft on again in silence, and arrived at Guestwick m ample time for thctraio. ** Let me know as* soon as you get. to town,'' sadd Crosbie. '* Oh^ of course. Til write to you before that." And so they parted. A#f Dal^ tun)e4> and went. Crosbie felt- that he liked him less* than he had done before ; and Bernard^ also, as he was* driving him^ came ta the conclusion that Crosbie would not be so good a fellow as a brother-in-law as he had been as a chance friend. '^ He'll give us trouble, in some way ; and I'm sorry that I brought him down." That was Dale's in-ward convio-^ tion in the matter. Crosbie's way froip Guestwick lay, by railway, to Barchester, the- cathedral city lying in the next county, from whence he purposed to have himself conyeyed over to Courcy. There had, in truth; been no cause for his very early departure, as he was aware that alt arrivals at country houses should take place at some hour not much previous to dinaw. He had beeu determined to be so sooa upon the road by a feeling .that it would be well for him to get over those last hours;. Thus he found himself, in Barchester at eleven o^dock, with nothing on his hands to do ; and, having no- thing dse to do, he went to church. There was a full service at the cathedral, and as the verger marshalled him up to one of the^ empty stalls, a little G^>are old man was beginning to chant the Litany. *' I did not mean to &U in for all this," said Crosbie, to himself, as he settled himself with his arms on the cushion. But the peculiar charm of that old man's voice soon attracted him ; — a voice that, though tremulous, was yet strong ; and he ceased to i87 regret the saint whose honour and glory had oooasioned the length of that day's special service. ^ And who is the old gentleman who chanted the Litany f* he ft^ed the verger afterwards, as he allowed himself .to be shown round the monuments of the catiiedral. "That's our precentor, sir; Mr. Haiding. You must have heard of Mr. Harding." But Crosbie, with a full apology, con- fessed his ignorance. " Well, sir ; he's pretty well known too, tho' he is so shy like. He's father-in-law to our dean, sir; and fietther-in-law to Arch* defiuson Grantly also." ** His daughters have all gone into the profession, then % *' " Why, yes ; but Miss Eleanor — for I remember her before she was married at all, — when they lived at the hospital—" <* At the hospital « *" " Hiram's hospital, sir. He was warden, you know. You should go and see the hospital, sir, if you never was there before. Well, Miss Eleanor,— ^-that Jwas his youngest, — she married Mr. Bold as her first. But now she's the dean's lady." ** Qh ; the dean's lady, is she ? " ^' Yes, indeed. And what do you think, sir) Mr. Harding might have been dean himself if he'd liked. They did offer it to him." " And he refused it 1 " ** Indeed he did, sir." " Nolo decanari. I never heard of that before. What made him so modest ? " '* Just that, sir ; because he is modest* He's past his seventy now,— ever so much ; but he's just as modest as a young girL A deal more modest than some of them. To see him and his grand-* daughter together I" ** And who is his granddaughter 1 " ''Why, Lady Dumbello, as will be the Marchioness of Hartletop." 1 88 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. *'*' I know Lady Dumbello," said Crosbie ; not meaning, boweyer, to boast to the verger of his noble acquaintance. '^ Oh, do you, sir % " said the man, unconsciously touching bis hat at this sign of greatness in the stranger ; though in truth he had no love for her ladyship. " Perhaps you're going to be one of the party at Courcy Castle.*' « Well, I believe I am." '^ You'll find her ladyship there before you. She lunched with her aunt at the deanery as she went through, yesterday j finding it too much trouble to go out to her father's, at Plumstead. Her father is the archdeacon, you know. They do say, — but her lady- ship is your friend I " '* No friend at all ; only a very slight acquaintance. She's quite as much above my line as she is above her father's." *' Well, she is above them all. They say she would hardly as much as speak to the old gentleman." « What, her father ?' ' '' No, Mr. Harding ; he that chanted the Litany just now. There he is, sir, coming out of the deanery." They were now standing at the door leading out from one of the transepts, and Mr. Harding passed them as they were speaking to- gether. He was a little, withered, shambling old man, with beat shoulders, dressed in knee-breeches and long black gaiters, which hung rather loosely about his poor old legs,^~rubbing his hands one over the other as he went. And yet he walked quickly ; not tottering as he walkeid, but with an uncertain, doubtful step. The verger, as Mr. Harding passed, put his hand to his head, and Crosbie also raised his hat. Whereupon Mr. Harding raised hiS| and bowed, and turned round as though he were about to speak. Crosbie felt that he had never seen a face on.which traits of human kindness were more plainly written. But the old man did not speak. He turned his body half round, and then shambled baok, as though ashamed of his intention, aqd passed on. '' He is of that sort that they make the angels of," said the verger. *' But they can't make many if they want them all as good 189 as he is. I'm much obliged to you, sir.'* And he pocketed the half-crown which Crosbie gave him. "So that's Lady Dumbello's grandfather/' said Crosbie, to him- self, as he walked slowly round the dose towards the hospital, by the path which the verger had shown him. He had no great love for Lady Dumbello, who had dared to snub him, — even him. " They may make an angel of the old gentleman," he continued to say ; " but they*ll never succeed in that wi&y with the grand- daughter." He sauntered slowly on over a little bridge ; and at the gate of the hospital he again came upon Mr. Harding. " I was going to venture in/' said he, *^ to look at the place. But perhaps I shall be intruding ? " '^ No, no ; by no means," said Mr. Harding. " Pray . come in. I cannot say that I am just at home here. I do not live here, — not now. But I know the ways of the place well, and can make you welcome. That*s the warden's house. Perhaps we won't go in so early in the day, as the lady has a very lat*ge family. An excellent lady, and a dear friend of mine, — as is her husband." " And he is warden, you say i " ** Tes, warden of the hospital Tou see the house, sir. Very pretty, isn't it 1 Very pretty. To my idea it's the prettiest built house I ever saw." ** I won't go quite so fiar as that," said Crosbie. " But you would if you'd lived there twelve ypars, as I did. I lived in that house twelve years, and I don't think there's so sweet a spot on the earth's surface. Did you ever see such turf as that 1" ** Very nice indeed," said Crosbie, who begtkn to make a com- parison with Mrs. Dale's turf at the Small House, and to determine that the Allington turf was better than that of the hospital. " I had that turf laid down myself. There were borders there when I first camej with hollyhocks, and those sort of things. The turf was an improvement." " There's no doubt of that, I should say.". tgo THE SMALL HOUSE AILBT AUNGTON. " The turf was an improvement, certainlj. And I planted thoeie shrubs, too. There isn't such a^ Portugal laurel a» thatfc in the- countyi" ''Were you warden here> sir?" And Grosbie, as he asked the^ question^ remembered that, in bis teiy-young days, he had heard of some newspaper quarrel Which had -taken place about Hiram's hospital at Barchester; **"Yes, sir. I was warden here for twehre years. Dear, dear, dear ! If they had put any gentleman here that was not on friendly terms- with me it would have made- me very unhappy, — veiy; But, as it is, I go in and* out just as I like ; almost as moeh as I did' before they But they didn't turn me out< ThdrewerO' reasons which made it best that I should resign." ^ And you live at the deanery now, Mr. Harding I*" ''Yes; I live at the deanery now. But I ani^ not dean, yoxi know. My son-in-law. Dr. Arabin, is the dean. I have another daughter married in the neighbourhood, and can truly say that my lines have fallen to me in pleasant places." Then he took Orosbie in among the -old men, into aD of whose rooms he went. It was an almshouse^for aged mien of the city, and before Crosbie had left him Mr. Harding had explained all the eireumstances of the hospital, and of the way in which he had left it. " I didn't like going, you know ; I thought it would break my heart. But I oouM not stay when they said such things as that ; — I couldn't stay. And, what is more, I should haVe been wrong to stay. I see it all now. But when I went out under that arcb, Mr. Crosbie, leaning on my daughter's arm; I thought that my heart would have broken." And the tears even now ran down the old man's cheeks as he spoko. It was a long story, and it need not be repeated here. And there was no reason why it should have been -told to Mr. Crosbie> other than this^ — that Mr. Harding was a fond garrulous old man, who loved to indulge his mind in reminiscences of the past. But this was remarked by Crosbie \ that, in telling his fltoiy, no wcnrd was said by Mr. Harding, injurious to any one. And yet he 'had 191 been injured, — ^injured very deeply. " It was all for the best," he fiaid at last ; " especially as the happiness has not been denied to me of making myself at home at the old place. I would take you into the house, which is very comfortable, — ^very ; only it is not always convenient early in the day, where there's a large family/* In hearing which Crosbie was again made to think of his own future home and limited income. He had told the old clergyman who he was, and that he was on his way to Courcy. ''Where, as I understand, I shall meet a granddaughter of yours." ** Yes, yes ; she is my grandchild. She. and I have got into -different walks of life now, so that I don't see much of her. They tell me that she does her duty well in that sphere of life to which it has pleased God to call her." "That depends," thought Crosbie, "oh what the duties of a viscountess may be supposed to be." But he wished his new friend good-by, without saying anything further as to Lady Dum- bello, and, at about six o'clock in the evening, had himself driven tip under the portico of €ourcy Castla •.•/ s^ ^;-' \r-l Jr CHAPTER XVII. 0 O U R C T 0 A S T L E. CouROT Castle was very full. lu the first place, there was a great gathering there of all the Courcy family. The earl was there, — and the couDtess, of course. At this period of the year Lady De Courcy was always at home ; but the presence of the earl himself had heretofore been by no means so certain. He was a man who had been much given to royal visitings and attendanceB, to parties in the Highlands, to —no doubt necessary — prolongations of the London season, to sqjoumings at certain German watering- places, convenient, probably, in order that he might study the ways and ceremonies of German Courts, — and to various other absences from home, occasioned by a close pursuit of his own special aims in life ; for the Earl De Courcy had been a great courtier. But of late gout, lumbago, and perhaps also some diminution in his powers of making himself generally agreeable, had reconciled him to domestic duties, and the earl spent much of his time at home. The countess, in former days, had been heard to complain of her lord's frequent absence. But it is hard to please some women, — and now she would not always be satisfied with his presence. And all the sons and daughters were there, — excepting Lord Porlock, the oldest, who never met his &ther. The earl and Lord Porlock were not on terms, and indeed hated each other as only such fathers and such sons can hate. The Honourable George De Courcy was there with his bride, he having lately performed a manifest duty, in having married a young woman with money. Very young she was not, — having reached some years of her life COURCY CASTLE, 193 in advance of thirty ; but then, neither was the Honourable George very young ; and in this respect the two were not ill-sorted. The lady's money had not been very much, — perhaps thirty thousand pounds or so. But then the Honourable George's money had been absolutely none. Now he had an income on which he could live, and therefore his father and mother had forgiven him all his sins, and taken him again to their bosom. And the marriage was matter of great moment, for the elder scion of the house had not yet taken to himself a wife, and the De Courcy'family might have to look to this union for an heir. The lady herself was not beautiful, or clever, or of imposing manners — nor was she of high birth. But neither was she ugly, nor unbearably stupid. Her manners were, at any rate, innocent ; and as to her birth, — seeing that, from the first, she was not supposed to have had any, — no disappointment was felt. Her father had been a coal-merchant. She was always called Mrs. George, and the effort made respecting her by every- body in and about the family was to treat her as though she were a figure of a woman, a large well-dressed resemblance of a being, whom it was necessary for certain purposes that the De Courcys should carry in their train. Of the Honourable George we may further observe, that, having been a spendthrift all his life, he had now become strictly parsimonious. Having reached the discreet age of forty, he had at last learned that beggary was objectionable ; and he, therefore, devoted every energy of his mind to save shillings and pence wherever pence and shillings might be saved. When first this turn came upon him both his father and mother were delighted to observe it ; but, although it had hardly yet lasted over twelve months, some evil results were beginning to appear. Though possessed of an income, he would take no steps towards possessing himself of a house. He hung by the patemkl mansion, either in town or country ; drank the paternal wines, rode the paternal horses, and had even contrived to obtain his wife's dresses from the maternal milliner. In the completion of which little last success, however, some slight fiimily dissent had showed itself. The Honourable John, the third son, was also at Courcy. He VOL. I. 0 194 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON, had as yet taken to himself no wife, and a« he had not hitherto made himself conspicuously useful in any special walk of life his family were beginning to regard him as a burden. Having no income of his own to save, he had not copied his brother's virtue of parsimony ; and, to tell the truth plainly^ he had made himself so generally troublesome to his father, that he had been on more than one occasion threatened with expulsion from the family roof. But it is not easy to expel a son. Human fledglings cannot be driven out of the nest like young birds. An Honourable John tamed adrift into absolute poverty will make himself heard of in the world, — if in no other way, by his ugliness as he starves. A thorough -going ne'er-do-well in the upper classes has eminent ad- vantiiges on his side in the battle which he fights against respect- ability. He can't be sent to Australia against his will. He can't be sent to the poor-house without the knowledge of all the world. He can't be kept out of tradesmen's shops ; nor, without terrible scandal, can he be kept away fiom the paternal properties. The earl had threatened, and snarled, and shown his teeth; he was an angry man, and a man who could look very angry ; with eyes which could almost become red, and a brow that wrinkled itself in perpendicular wrinkles, sometimes very terrible to behold. But he wsis an inconsistent man, and the Honourable John had learned to measure his father, and in an accurate balance. I have mentioned the sons first, because it is to be presumed that they were the elder, seeing that their names were mentioned before those of their sisters in all the peerages But there were four daughters, — the Ladies Amelia, Rosina, Margaretta, and Alexandrina. They, we may say, were the flowers of the family, having so lived that ^they had created none of those family feuds which had been so frequent between their father and their brothers. They were discreet, high-bred women, thinking, perhaps, a little too much of their own position in the world, and somewhat apt to put a wrong value on those advantages which they possessed, and on those which they did not possess. The Lady Amelia was already married, having made a substantial if not a brilliant match COURCY CASTLE. 195 vitii Mr. Mortimer Grazebee, a flourishing solicitor, belonging to a firm which had for many years acted as agents to the De Courcy property. Mortimer Gazebee was now member of Parliament for Barchester, partly through the influence of his father-in-law. That this should be so was a matter of great disgust to the Honourable George, who thoughtjthat the seat should have belonged to him. But as Mr. Gazebee had paid the Tery heavy expenses of the election out of his own pocket, and as George De Courcy certainly could ^ not have paid them, the justice of his claim may be questionable. ^M« Gazebee was now the happy mother of many babies, whom 5^5^e was wont to carry with her on her visits to Courcy Castle, and liad become an excellent partner to her husband. He would perhaps have liked it better if she had not spoken so frequently to him of her own high position as the daughter of an earl, or so fre- quently to others of her low position as the wife of an attorney. But, on the whole, they did very well together, and Mr. Gazebee had gotten from his marriage quite as much as he expected when he made it. The Lady Bosina was very religious ; and I do not know that 4|w8he was con^l^uous in any other way, unless it might be that she /somewhat resembled her father in her temper. It was of the Lady Rosina that the servants were afraid, especially with reference to that so-called day of rest which, under her dominion, had become to many of them a day of restless torment. It had not always been 80 with the Lady Rosina \ but her eyes had been opened by the wife of a great church dignitary in the neighbourhood, and she had undergone regeneration. How great may be the misery inflicted by an energetic, unmarried, healthy woman in that condition,-^ a woman with no husband, or children, or duties, to distract her from her work — I pray that my readers may never know. The Lady Margaretta was her mother's favourite, and she was like her mother in all things, — except that her mother had been a beauty. The world called her proud, disdainful, and even insolent ; but the world was not aware that in all that she did she was acting in accordance with a principle which had called for much self- 0 2 196 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. abnegatioii. She had considered it her duty to be a De Courcy and an earl's daughter at all times ; and consequently she had sacrificed to her idea of duty all popularity, adulation, and such admiration as would have been awarded to her a» a well-dressed, tall, fashionable, and by no means stupid young woman. To be at all times in something higher than they who were manifestly below he%in rank, — that was the effort thatishe was ever making. But she had been a good daughtei*, assisting her mother, as best she might, in all family troubles, and never repining at the cold, colourless, unlovely life which had been vouchsafed to her. Alexandrina was the beauty of the family, and was, in truth, the youngest. But even she was not very young, and was beginning to make her friends uneasy lest she, too, should let the precious season of hay-harvest run by without due use of her sunimer's sun. She had, perhaps, counted too much on her beauty, which had been beauty according to law rather than beauty according to taste, and had looked, probably, for too bounteous a harvest That her forehead, and nose, and cheeks, and chin were well formed, no man could deny. Her hair was soft and plentiful. Her teeth were good, and her eyes were long and oval. But the fault of her face was this, — that when you left her you could not remember it. After a first acqua-ntanoe you could meet heragain and not know her. After many meetings you would fail to carry away with you any por- trait of her features. But such as she had been at twenty, such w&s she now at thirty. Years had not robbed her face of its regularity , ] > or ruffled the smoothness of her too even forehead. Rumour haa declared that on more than one, or perhaps more than two occasions, Lady f Alexandrina had been already induced to plightlher troth in r/turn for proffered love ; but we all know that Rumour, when she takes to such topics, exaggerates the truth, and sets down much in malice. The lady was once engaged, the engagement lasting for two years, and the engagement had been broken off, owing to some money difficulties between the gentlemen of the families. Sin :c that she had been somewhat querulous, and was sup- posed to be uneasy on that subject of her haymaking. Her glass COURCY CASTLE. 19T and her maid afisured ber that her sun shone still as brightly as ever ; but her spirit was becoming weary with waiting, and she dreaded lest she should become a terror to all, as was her sister Rosina, or an object of interest to none, as was Margaretta. It wamrom her especially that this message had bc;en sent to our friend Crosbie ; for, during the last spring in London, she and Crosbie had known each other well. Yes, my gentle readers ; it is true, as your heart suggests to you. Under such circumstances Mr. Crosbie should not have gone to Ck)urcy Castle. Such was the family circle of the De Courcys. Among their present guests I need not enumerate many. First and foremost in all respects was Lady Dumbello, of whose parentage and posi- tion a few words were said in the last chapter. She was a lady still very youug, having as yet been little more tlian two years married. But in those two years her triumphs had been many \ — 80 many, that in the great world her standing already equalled that of her celebrated mother-in-law, the Marchioness of Hartletop who, for twenty years, had owned no greater potentate than her- self in the realms of fashion. But Lady Dumbello was every inch as great as she ; and men said, and women also, that the daughter- in-law would soon be the greater. *' I'U be hanged if I can understand how she does it,'' a certain noble peer had once said to Crosbie, standing at the door of Sebright' s, during the Infter days of the last season. " She never says anything to any one. She won't speak ten words a whole night through.'' ** I don't think she has an idea in her head," said Cix)sbie. '* Let me tell you that she must be a very clever woman," con- tinued the noble peer. *' No fool could do as she does. Kemem- ber, she's only a parson's daughter ; and as for beauty " " I don't admire her for one," said Crosbie. " I don't want to run away with her, if you mean that,^' said the peer ; " but she is handsome, no doubt. I wonder whether Dumbello likes it." Dumbello did like it. It satisfied his ambit icn to I e l^d about 198 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLJNGTON., as the senior lacquey ia his wife*9 train. He believed himself to be a great man because the world fought for his wife's presence ; and considered himself to be distingaished even among the eldest sons of marquises, by the greatness reflected from the parson's daughter whom he had married. He had now been brought to Courcy Castle, and felt himself proud of his situation because Lady Dumbello had made considerable difficulty in according this week to the Countess De Courcy. And Lady Julia De Guest was already there, the sister of the other old earl who lived in the next oounty. She had only arrived on the day before, but had been quick in spreading the news as to Crosbie's engagement. ^ Engaged to one of the Dales is he ?" said the countess, with a pretty little smile, which showed plainly that the matter was one of no interest to herself. " Has she got uny money ] " " Not a shilling, I should think," said the Lady Julia. " Pretty, I suppose % *' suggested the countess. " Why, yes ; she is pretty — and a nice girl. I don't know whether her mother and uncle were very wise in encouraging Mr. Crosbie. I don't hear that he has anything special to recom- mend him, — in the way of money I mean.** " I dare say it will come to nothing," said the countess, who liked to hear of girls being engaged and then losing their promised husbands. She did not know that she liked it, but she did ; and already had pleasure in anticipating poor Lily's discomfiture. But not the less was she angry with Crosbie, feeling that he was making his way into her house under false pretences. And Alexandrina also was angry when Lady Julia repeated the same tidings in her hearing. " I really don't think we care very much about it, Lady Julia,'* said she, with a little toss of her head. " That's three times we've been told of Miss Dale's good fortune." " The Dales are related to you, I think ?'* said Margaretta. " Not at all,'* said Lady Julia, bristling up. " The lady whom Mr. Crosbie proposes to marry is in no way connected with us. COURCY CASTLE. 199 Her oousin, who is the heir to the Allington property, is my nephew hy his mother." Aud then the subject was dropped. Crosbie, on his arrival, was shown up into his room, told the hour of dinner, and left to his devices. He had been at the castle before, and knew the ways of the house. So he sat himself down to his table, and began a letter to Lily. But he had not pro- ceeded iar, not having as yet indeed made up his mind as to the form in which he would commence it, but was sitting idly with the pen in his hand, thinking of Lily, and thinking also how such houses as this in which he now found himself would be soon closed against him, when there came a rap at his door, and befure he could answer the Honourable John entered the room. " Well, old fellow," said the Honourable John, "how are you I** Crosbie had been intimate with John De Courcy, but never felt for him either friendship or liking. Crosbie did not like such men as John de Courcy ; but nevertheless, they called each other old fellow, poked each other's ribs, and were very intimate, "Heard you were here," continued the Honourable John ; "so I thought I would come up and look after you. Going to be married, ain't you ?" " Not that I know of," said Crosbie. "Come, we know better than that. The women have been talking about it for the last three days. I had her name quite pat yesterday, but Tve forgot it now. Hasn't got a tanner ; has she ?'* And the Honourable John had now seated himself upon the table, " You seem to know a great deal more about it than I do," ** It is that old w^oman froni Guestwick who told us, then. The women will be at you at once, you'll find. If there's nothing in it, it's what I call a d shame. Why should they always pull a fellow to pieces in that way f Tliey were going to marry me the other day !" " Were they indeed, though f " To Harriet Twistleton. You know Harriet Twistletoii t An uncommon fine girl, you know. But I wasn't going to be caught 200 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. like that. Fna very fond of Harriet, — in my way, you know ; butt they don't catch an old bird like me with chaff." '' I condole with Miss Twistleton for what she has lost." " I don't know about condoling. But upon my word thg^t getting married is a veiy slow thing. Have you seep George's wifer* Crosbie declared that he had not as yet had that pleasure " She's here now, you knwv. I would»!t have takea her, not if she had ten times thirty thousand pounds. By Jove, no. But he likes it well enough. Wwild you believe it now? — he cares for nothing on earth except money. You never saw such a fellow. But I'll tell you what, his nose will be out of joint yet, for Porlock is going to marry. I heard it from Colepepper, who almost lives with Porlock. As soon as Porlock heard that she. was in the familyway be immediately made up his mind to cut him out.'' «* That was a great sign of brotherly love," said Crosbie* " I knew he'd do it," said John ; " and so I told George before he got himself spliced. But he would go on. If he'd remained as he was for four or five years longer there would have been no danger ; — for Porlock, you know, is leading the deuce of a life. 1 shouldn't wonder if he didn't reform now, and take to singing psalms or something of that sort." *' There's no knowing what a man may come to in this world." " By George, no. But I'll tell you what, they'll find no change in me. If I marry it will not be with the intention of giving up life. I say, old fellow, have you got a cigar here ?" " What, to smoke up here, do you mean ?" ** Yes ; why not % we're ever so far from the women." " Not whilst I am occupier of this room. Besides, it's time to dress for dinner." *' Is it % So it is, by George ! But I mean to have a smoke first, I can tell you. So it's all a lie about your being engaged ; ehl" '' As far as I know, it is," said Crosbie. And then his friend left him. COURCY CASTLE, 201 What was he to do at once, now, this yerj day, as to his engage- ment 1 He had felt sure that the report of it would be carried to Courcy by Lady Julia De Guest, but he had not settfcd down upon any resolution as to what he would do in consequence. It had not occurred to him that he would immediately be c^ar^cd with the ofifence, and called upon to plead guilty or not guilty. He had never for a moment meditated any plea of not guilty, but he was aware of an aversion on his part to declare himself as engaged to Lilian Dale. It seemed that by doing so he would cut himself off at once from all pleasure at snch houses as Courcy Castle ; and, as he argued to himself, why should he not enjoy the little remnant of his bachelor life ? As to his denying his engagement to John De Courcy, — that was nothing. Any one would understand that he would be justified in concealing a fact concerning himself from such a one as he. The denial repeated from John's mouth would amount to nothing, — even among John's own sisters. But now it was necessary that Crosbie should make up his miud as to what he would say when questioned by the ladies of the house. If he were to deny the fact to them the denial would be very serious. And indeed, was it possible that he should make such denial with Lady Julia opposite to him ? Make such a denial 1 And was it the fact that he could wish to do so, — that he should think of such falsehood, and even meditate on the perpetration of such cowardice ? He had held that young girl to his heart on that veiy morning. He had sworn to her, and had also sworn to himself, that she should have no reason for dis- trusting him. He had acknowledged most solemnly to himself that, whether for good or for ill, he was bound to her ; and could it be that he was already calculating as to the practicability of dis- owning her ? In doing so must he not have told himself that he was a villain % But in truth he made no such calculation. His object was to banish the subject, if it were possible to do so ; to think of some answer by which he might create a doubt. It did not occur to him to tell the countess boldly that there was no truth whatever in the report, and that Miss Dale was nothing to 202 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. him. But might he not skilfully laugh oflP the subject, even in the presence of Lady Jiilia ] Men who were engaged did so TiBually» and why should not he 1 It was generally thought that solicitude for the lady's feelings should prevent a man from talking openly of his own engagement. Then he remembered the easy freedom with which his position had been discussed throughout the whole neigh- bourhood bf AUington, and felt for the first time that the Dalie family had been almost indelicate in their want of reticence. " I suppose it was done to tie me the faster," he said to himself, as he pulled out the ends of his cravat. " What a fool I was to come here, or indeed to go anywhere, after settling myself as I have done." And then he went down into the drawing-room. It was almost a relief to him when he found that he was not charged with his sin at once. He himself had been so full of the subject that he had expected to be attacked at the moment of his entrance. He was, however, greeted without any allusion to the matter. The countess, in her own quiet way, shook hands with him as though she had seen him only the day before. The earl, who was seated in his arm-chair, asked some one, out loud, who the stranger was, and then, with two fingers put forth, muttered some apology for a welcome. But Crosbie was quite up to that kind of thing. " How do, my lord 1 " he said, turning his face away to some one else as he spoke ; and then he took no further notice of the master of the house. " Not know him, indeed ! " Crippled though he was by his matrimonial bond, Crosbie felt that, at any rate as yet, he was the earl's equal in social importance. After that, he found himself in the back part of the drawing-room, away fram the elder people, standing with Lady Alexandrina, with Miss Gresham, a cousin of the De Courcys, and sundry oth^r of the younger portion of the assembled community. " So you have Lady Dumbello here 1 " said Crosbie, " Oh, yes ; the dear creature ! *' said Lady Margarettal " It was so good of her to come, you know." " She positively refused the Duchess of St. Bungay," said Alex- andrina. " I hope you perceive how good we've been to you in COURCY CASTLE, 203 getting you to meet her. People have actually asked to come." " I am grateful ; but, in truth, my gratitude has more to do with Courcy Castle and its habitual inmates, than with Lady Dum- bello. Is he here T' . ^ ^ — .^ " Oh, yes ! he's in the room somewhere. There he is, standing up by Lady Clandidlem. He always stands in that way before dinner. In the evening he sits down much after the same fashion." Crosbie had seen him on first entering the room, and had seen every individual in it. He knew better than to omit the duty of that scrutinizing glance ; but it sounded well in his line not to have obseiTed Lord Dumbello. *' And her ladyship is not down % " said he. ^ She is generally last^'' said Lady Margaretta. ''And yet she has always three women to dress her,'' said Alezandrina. '' But when finished, what a success it is ! " said Crosbie. " Indeed it is ! " said Margaretta, with energy. Then the door was opened, and Lady Dumbello entered the room. There was immediately a commotion among them all. Even the gouty old lord shuffled up out of his chair, and tried, with a grin to look sweet and pleasant. The countess came forward, looking very sweet and pleasant, making little complimentary speeches, to which the viscountess answered simply by a gracious smile. Lady Clandidlem, though she was very fat and heavy, left the viscount, and got up to join the group. Baron Potsneuf, a diplomatic German of great celebrity, crossed his hands upon his breast and made a low bow. The Honourable George, who had stood silent for the last quarter of an hour, suggested to her ladyship that she must have found the air rather cold ; and the Ladies Margaretta and Alezandriua fluttered up with little complimentary speeches to their dear Lady Dumbello, hoping this and beseeching thnt, as though the " Woman in White " before them had been the dearest friend of their infaucv. ) 204 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. She was a woman in white, being dressed in white silk, with white lace over it, and with no other jewels upon her person than diamonds. Very beautifully she was dressed ; doing infinite credit, no doubt, to those three artists who had, between them, succeeded in turning her out of hand. And her face, also, was beautiful, with a certain cold, inexpressive beauty. She walked up the ro6m very slowly, smiling here and smiling there ; but still with very faint smiles, and took the place which her hostess indicated to her. One word she said to the countess and two to the earl. Beyond that she did not open her lips. All the homage paid to her she received as though it were clearly her due. She was not in the least embarrassed, nor did she show herself to be in the slightest degree ashamed of her owti silence. She did not look like a fool, nor was she even taken for a fool ; but she contributed nothing to society but her cold, hard beauty, her gait, and her dress. We may say that she contributed enough, for society acknowledged itself to be deeply indebted to her. The only person in the room who did not move at Lady Dum- bello's entrance was her husband. But he remained unmoved from no want of enthusiasm. A spark of pleasure actually beamed in his eye as he saw the triumphant entrance of his wife. He felt that he had made a match that was becoming to him as a great nobleman, and that the world was acknowledging that he had done his duty. And yet Lady Dumbello had been simply the daughter of a country parson, of a clergyman who had reached no higher rank than that of an archdeacon. " How wonderfully well that woman has educated her," the countess said that evening in her dressing-room, to Margaretta. The woman alluded to was Mrs. Grantly, the wife of the parson and mother of Lady Dumbello. The old earl was very cross because destiny and the table of pre- cedence required him to take out Lady Olandidlem to dinner. He almost insulted her, as she kindly endeavoured to assist him in his infirm step rather than to lean upon him. " Ugh ! ** he said, " it's a bad arrangement that makes two old people lite you and me be sent out together to help each other. COURCY castle: 205 " Speak for yourself," said her her ladyship, with a laugh. " I, at any rate, can get about without any assistance/' — which, indeed, was true enough. " It's well for you ! " growled the earl, as he got himself into his seat. And after that he endeavoured to solace his pain by a flirtation with Lady Dumbello on his left. The earFs smiles and the earFs teeth, when he whispered na]^ghty little nothings to pretty young tX/ women, were pheuoiKiena at which men might marvel. Whatever / those naughty nothings were on the present occasion, Lady Dum- bello took them all with placidity, smiling graciously, but speaking hardly more than monosyllables. Lady Alexandrina fell to Crosbie's lot, and he felt gratified that it was so. It might be necessary for him, as a manied man, to give up such acquaintances as the De Courcys, but he shoiild like, if possible, to maintain a friendship with Lady Alexandrina. What a friend Lady Alexandrina would be for Lily, if any such friend- ship were only possible ! What an advantage would such an alliance confer upon that dear little girl ; — for, after all, though the dear little girFs attractions were very great, he could not but admit to himself that she wanted a something, — a way of holding herself and of speaking, which some people call style. Lily might cei'tainly learn a great des^l from Lady Alexandrina ; and it was this conviction, no dpubt, which made him so sedulous in pleasing that lady on the present occasion. And she, as it seemed, was well inclined to be pleased. She said no word to him during dinner about Lily; and yet she spoke about the Dales, and about AUington, showing that she knew in what quarters he had been staying, and then she alluded to their last parties in London, — those occasions on which, as Crosbie now remembered, the intercourse between them had almost been tender^ ^ It was manifest to him that at any rate she did not wish to quarfeT" ^""^^ with him. It was manifest, also, that she had some little hesita- tion in speaking to him about his engagement. He did not for the 2o6 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. moment doubt that she was aware of it. And in this way matters went on between them till the ladies left the room. "So you're going to be married, too," said the Honourable George, by whose side Crosbie /ound himself seated when the ladies were gonia. Crosbie was employing himself upon a walnut, and did not find it necessary to make any answer. ''It's the best thing a fellow can do," continued George ; " that ^s, if he has been careful to look to the main chance, — if he hasn't been caught napping, you know. It doesn't do for a man to go hanging on by nothing till he finds himself an old man." " You've feathered your own nest, at any rate." " Yes ; I've got something in the scramble, and I mean to keep it. Where will John be when the governor goes off the hooks % Porlock wouldn't give him a bit of bread and cheese and a glass of beer to save his life ; — that is to say, not if he wanted it." " I'm told your elder brother is going to be married." "You've heard that from John. He's spreading that about everywhere to take a rise out of me. I don't believe a word of it. Porlock never was a marrying man ; — and, what's more, from all I hear, I don't think he'll live long." In this way Crosbie escaped from his own difficulty ; and when he rose from the dinner-table had not as yet been driven to confess anything to his own discredit. But the evening waa not yet over. ' When he returned to the drawing-room he endeavoured to avoid any conversation with the countess herself, believing that the attack would more probably come from her than from her daughter. He, therefore, got into conversation first with one and then with another of the girls, till at last he found himself again alone with Alezandrina. " Mr. Crosbie," she said, in a low voice, as they were standing together over one of the distant tables, with their backs to the rest of. the company, " I want you to tell me something about Miss Lilian Dale." " About Miss Lilian Dale ! " he said, repeating her words. " Is she very pretty ? " COURCY CASTLE. 207 *' Yes ; she certainly is pretty." "And very nice, and attractive, and clever, — and all that is delightful ? Is she perfect ) " " She is very attractive," said he ; " but I don't think she is perfect." " And what are her faults 1 " " That question is hardly fair, is it ] Suppose any one were to ask me what were your faults, do you think I should answer the question ? " " I am quite sure you would, and make a very long list of them, too. But as to Miss Dale, you ought to think her perfect. If a gentleman were engaged to me, I should expect him to swear before all the world that I was the very pink of perfection." " But supposing the gentleman were not engaged to you ? *' " That would be a diflFerent thing." " I am not engaged to you," said Crosbie. '' Such happiness and such honour are, I fear, very far beyond my reach. Bu^everthe- ^/ less, I am prepared to testify as to your perfection anywhere." / " And what would Miss Dale say 1 " '' Allow me to assure you that such opinions as I may choose to express of my friends will be my own opinions, and not depend on those of any one else." " And you think, then, that you are not bound to be enslaved as yetl flow many more months of such freedom are you to en- joy!" Crosbie remained silent for a minute before he answered, and then he spoke in a serious voice. " Lady Alexandrina," said he, " I would beg from you a great favour." " What is the favour, Mr. Crosbie ? " '* I am quite in earnest. Will you be good enough, kind enough, enough my friend, not to connect my name again with that of Miss Dale while I am here ? " ^ Has there been a quarrel ? " " No ; there has been no quarrel. I cannot explain to you now why I make this request ; but to you I will explain it before I go.'' 2o8 THE SMALL HOU^E AT ALLINGTON, " Explain it to me ! " "I have regarded you as more than an acquaintance, — as a friend. In days now past there were moments when I was almost rash enough to hope that I might have said even more than that. I confess that I had no warrant for such hopes, hut I believe that I may still look on you as a friend ] '* " Oh, yes, certainly," said Alexandrina, in a very low voice, and with a certain amount of tenderness in her tone. " I have always regarded you as a friend." "And therefore I venture to make the request. The subject is not one on which I can speak openly, without regret, at the present moment. But to you, at least, I promise that I will explain it all before I leave Courcy.'* He at any rate succeeded in mystifying Lady Alexandrina. " I don't believe he is engaged a bit," she said to Lady Amelia Gazebee that night. " Nonsense, my dear. Lady Julia wouldn't speak of it in that certain way if she didn't know. Of course he doesn't wish to have it talked about" " If ever he has been engaged to her, he has broken it off again," said Lady Alexandrina. " I dare say he will, my dear, if you give him encouragement," said the married sister, with great sisterly good-nature. CHAPTER XVIII. LILT dale's first LOVE-LETTER. Caosbie was rather proud of himself when he went to bed. He had succeeded in baffling the charge made against him, without saying anything as to which his conscience need condemn him. So, at least, he then told himself. The impression left by what be had said would be that there had been some question of an engagement between him and Lilian Dale, but that nothing at this moment was absolutely fixed. But in the morning his conscience was not quite so clear. What would Lily think and say if she knew it all 1 Could he dare to tell to her, or to tell any one the real state of his mind 1 As he lay in bed, knowing that an hour remained to him before he need encounter the perils of his tub, he felt that he hated Courcy Castle and its inmates. Who was there, among them all, that was comparable to Mrs. Dale and her daughters? He de- tested both George and John. He loathed the earl. As to the countess herself, he was perfectly indifferent, regarding her as a woman whom it was well to know, but as oue only to be known as the mistress of Courcy Castle and a house in London. As to the daughters, he had ridiculed them all from time to time — even Alexandrina, whom he now professed to love. Perhaps in some sort of way he had a weak fondness for her ; — but it was a fond- ness that had never touched his heart. He could measure the whole thing n,t its worth, — Courcy Castle with its privileges, Lady Bumbello, Lady Clandidlem, and the whole of it. He knew that he had been happier on that lawn at AUington, and more con- TOL. I. p 210 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. tented with himself, than ever he had been eyen under Lady Hartletop's splendid roof -in Shropshire. Lady Dumbello was ^ati8fied with these things, eyen in the inmost recesses of her soul ; but he was not a male Lady Dumbello. He knew that there was something better, and that that something was within his reach. But, nevertheless, the air of Courcy was too much for him. In arguing the matter with himself he regarded himself as one infected with a leprosy from which there could be no recoveiyy and who should, therefore, make his whole life suitable to the circum- stances of .that leprosy. It was of no use for him to tell himself that the Small House at Allington was better than Courcy Castle. Satan knew that heaven was better than hell ; but he found him- self to be fitter for the latter place. CrosbJe ridiculed Lady Dumbello, even there among her friends, with all the cutting words that his wit could ikid ; but, nevertheless, the privilege of staying in the same house with her was dear to him. It was the line of life into which he had fallen, and he confessed inwardly that the stniggle to extricate himself would be too much for him. All that had troubled him while he was yet at Allington, but it .overwhelmed him almost with dismay beneath the hangings of Courcy Castle. Had he not better run from the place at once ? He had almost acknowledged to himself that he repented his engagement with Lilian Dale, but he still was resolved that he would fulfil it. He was bound in honour to marry " that little girl," and he looked sternly up at the drapery over his head, as he assured himself that he was a man of honour. Yes ; he would sacrifice himself. As be had been induced to pledge his word, he would not go back from it. He was too mueh of a man for that ! But had he not been wrong to refuse the result of Lily's wisdom when she told him in the field that it would be better for them to part ? He did not tell himself that he had refused her ofier mierely because he had not the courage to accept it on the spur of the moment. No. ''He had been too good to the poor girl to take her. at her word." It was thus he argued on the matter within LILY DALES FIRST LOVE-LETTER. 211 his own breast. He had been too true to her ; and now the effect woTild be that they would both be unhappy for life ! He could not live in content with a family upon a small income. He was veil aware of that. No one could be harder upon him in that matter than was he himsel£ But it was too late now to remedy the ill effects of an early education. It was thus that he debated the matter as he lay in bed, — contradicting one argument by another over and over again ; but still in all of them teaching himself to think that this engagement of his was a misfortune. Poor Lily ! Her last words; to him had conveyed an assurance that she would never distrust him. And she also, as she lay wakeful in her bed on this the first morning of his absence, thought much of their mutual vows. How true she would be to them ! How she would be his wife with all her heart and spirit ! It was not only that she would love him ; — but in her love she would serve him to her utmost ; serve him as re- garded this world, and if possible ns regarded the next. "Bell," she said," I wish you were going to be married too/' ** Thank'ye dear," said Rell. " Perhaps I shall some day.'* " Ah ; but I'm not joking. It seems such a serious thing. And I can't expect you to talk to me about it now as you would if you were in the same position yourself Do you think I shall niake him happy 1" " Yes, I do, certainly." " Happier than he would be with any one else that he might meet ? I dare not think that. I think I could give him up to- morrow, if I could see any one that would suit him better." What would Lily have said had she been made acquainted with all the fascinations of Lady Alexandrina De Courcy ? The countess was very civil to him, saying nothing about his engagement, but still talking to him a good deal about his sojourn at Allington. Crosbie was a pleasant man for ladies in a large house. Though a sportsman, he was not so keen a sportsman as to be always out with the gamekeepers. Though a politician, he did not sacrifice his mornings to the perusal of blue-books- or the. Y 2 212 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. preparation of party tactics. Though a reading man, he did not devote himself to study. Though a horseman, he was not often to be found in the stables. He could supply oonyersation when it was wanted, and could take himself out of the way when his presence among the women was not needed. Between breakfast and lunch on the day following bis arrival he talked a good deal to the countess, and made himself very agreeable. She continued to ridicule him gently for his prolonged stay among so primitive and rural a tribe of people as the Dales, and he bore h^ little sarcasm with the utmost good-humonr. ** Six weeks at Allington without a move ! Why, Mr. Crosbie, you must have felt yourself to be growing there." '* So I did — like an ancient tree. Indeed, I was so rooted that I could hardly get away.'* " Was the house full of people all the time ? ^ " There was nobody there but Bernard Dale, Lady Julia's nephew." " Quite a case of Damon and Pythias. Fancy your going down to the shades of AUington to enjoy the uninterrupted pleasures of friendship for six weeks." " Friendship and the partridges." " There was nothing else, then ] ** " Indeed there was. There was a widow with two very nice daughters, living, not exactly in the same house, but on the same grounds." " Oh, indeed. That makes s\ich a difference ; doesn't it ? You are not a man to bear much privation on the score of partridges^ nor a great deal, I imagine, for friendship. But when you talk of pretty girls " ** It makes a difference, doesn't it ? " "A very great difference. I think I have heard of that Mr8,i Dale before. And so her girls are nice 1 '* ' " Very nice indeed." " Play croquet, I suppose, and eat syllabus on the lawn f But, really, did'nt you get very tired of it \ " ULY DALES FIRST LOVE-LETTER. 213 " 0 dear, no. I was happy as the day was long. ** Going about with a crook, I suppose t " '* Not exactly a live crook ; but doing all that kind of thing. I learned a great deal about pigs." " Under the guidance of Miss Dale f " ^ Yes \ uuder the guidance of Miss Dale.** ^ Pm sure one is very much obliged to you for tearing yourself away from such charms, and coming to such unromantic people as we are. But I fancy men always do that sort of thing once or twice in their Uves, — and then they talk of their souvenii^. I suppose it won't go beyond' a souvenir with you." This was a direct question, but still admitted of a fencing answer. " It has, at any rate, given me one," said he, *' which will last me my life ! '^ The countess was quite contented. That Lady Julia's statement was altogether true she had never for a moment doubted. That Crosbie should become engaged to a young lady in the country, whereas he had shown signs of being in love with her daughter in London, was not at all wonderful. Nor, in her eyes, did such practice amount to any great sul Men did so daily, and girls were prepared for their so doing. A man in her eyes was not to be regarded as safe from attack because he was engaged. Let the young lady who took upon herself to own him have an eye to that. When she looked back on the past careers of her own flock, she had to reckon more than one such disappointment lor her own daughters. Others besides Alezandrina had been so treated. Lady de Courcy ^ had her grand hopes respecting her girls, and after them modenite hopes, and again after them bitter disappointments. Only one had been married, and she was married to an attorney. It was Qot to be supposed that she would have any very high-toned' feel- ings as to Lily's rights in this matter. Snch a man as Crosbie was certainly no great match for an earl's daughter. Such a marriage, indeed, would, one may say, be but a poor triomph. When the countess, during the last season in town, had observed how matters were going with Alezandrina, she had JM THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. cautioned her child, taking her to task for her imprudence. But the child had been at this work for fourteen years, and was weary of it. Her sisters had been at the work longer, and had almost given it up in despair. Alexandrina did not tell her parent that her heart was now beyond her control, and that she had devoted herself to Crosbie for ever ; but she pouted, saying that she knew very well what she was about, scolding her mother in return, and making Lady De Courcy perceive that the struggle was beooming very weary. And then there were other considerations. Mr* Crosbie had not much certainly in his own possession, but he was a man out of whom something might be made by family influence and his own standing. He was not a hopeless, ponderous man, whom no leaven could raise. He was one of whose position in society the countess and her daughters need not be ashamed. Ladj De Courcy had given no expressed consent to the arrangement, but it had come to be understood between her and her daughter that the scheme was to be entertained as admisedble. Then came these tidings of the little girl down at AUington. She felt no anger against Crosbie. To be angiy on such a subject would be futile, foolish, and almost indecorous. It was a part of the game which was as natural to her as fielding is to a cricdLeter. One cannot have it all winnings at any game. Whether Crosbie should eventually become her own son-in-law or not it came to her naturally, as a part of her duty in life, to bowl down the stumps of that young lady at Allington. If Miss Dale knew the game well and could protect her own wicket, let her do so. She had no doubt as to Crosbie*s engagement with Lilian Dale, but she had as little as to his being ashamed of that engagement. Had he really cared for Miss Dale he would not have left her to come to Courcy Castle. Had he been really resolved to many her, he would not have warded all questions respecting his engagement with fictitious answers. He had amused himself with Lily Dale, and it was to be hoped that the young lady had not thought very seriously about it. That was the most charitable light in whieh Lady De Courcy was disposed to regard the question. LILY DALES FIRST LOVE-LETTER. 215 It behoved Crosbie to write to Lily Dale before dinner. He had promised to do so immediately on his arrival, and he was aware that he would be regarded as being already one day beyond his promise. Lily had told him that she would live upon his letters, and it was absolutely necessary that he should furnish her with her first meaL So he betook himself to his room in sufficient time before dinner, and got out his pen, ink, and paper. He got out his pen, ink, and paper, and then ho found that his difficulties were beginning. I beg that it may be understood that Grosbie was not altogether a villain. He could not sit down and write a letter as coming from his heart, of which as he wrote it he knew the words to be Mse. He was an ungeuerous, worldly, in- constant man, very prone to think well of himself, and to give himself credit for virtues which he did not possess ; but he could not be fiedse with premeditated cruelty to a woman he had sworn to love. He could not write an affectionate, warm-hearted letter to Lily, without bringing himself, at any rate for the time, to feel towards her in an affectionate, warm-hearted way. Therefore he now sat himself to work, while his pen yet remained dry in his hand, to remodel his thoughts, which had beea turned against Lily and Allington by the craft of Lady De Courcy. It takes some time before a man can do this. He has to struggle with himself in a very uncomfortable way, making efforts which are often uusuccess- fuL It is sometimes easier to lift a couple of hundredweights than to raise a few thoughts in one's mind which at other moments will come galloping in without a whistle. He had just written the date of his letter when a little tap came at his door, and it was opened " I say, Crosbie,'* said the Honourable John, ** didn't you . say something yesterday about a cigar before dinner 1 " " Not a word," said Crosbie, in rather an angry tone. " Then it must have been me," said John. " But bring your case with you, and come down to the harness-room, if you won't smoke here. I've had a regular little snuggery fitted up there ; and we can go in and see the fellows making up the horses." 2i6 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLTNGTON". Crosbie wished the Honourable John at the mischief. " I have letters to write," said he. " Besides, I never smoke before dinner.*' '' That's nonsense. Tve smoked hundreds of cigars with yon before dinner. Are you going to turn curmudgeon, too, like George and the rest of them ? I don't know what's coming to the world % I suppose the fact is, that little girl at AUington won't let you smoke." " The little girl at Allington " began Crosbie ; and then he reflected that it would not be well for him to say anjrthing to hia present companion about that little girl. " 111 tell you what it is^'^ said he. '' I really have got letters to write which must go by this post. '' There's my cigar-case on the dressing-table." ^ I hope it will be long before I'm brought to such a state," said John, taking up the cigars in his hand. '* Let me have the case back," said Crosbie. '' A present from the little girl, I suppose 9 " said John. '*. AH right, old fellow ! you shall have it." '' There would be a nice brother-in-law for a man," said Crosbie to himself, as the door closed behind the retreating form of the De Courcy family. And then, again, he took up his pen. The letter must be written, and therefore he threw himself upon the table,. resolved that the words should come and the paper be filled. ** CouEOY Castle, Octohtfr^ 186 — '^Deabest Lily, — ^This is the first letter I have ever wrote to you^ except those little notes when I sent you my compliments discreetly^ — and it sounds so odd. You will think that this does not come as soon as it should ; but the truth is that after all I only got in here just before dinner yesterday. I stayed ever so long in Bar- Chester, and came across such a queer character. For you must know I went to church, and afterwards fraternized with the clergy- man who did the service ; such a gentle old soul, — and, singularly enough, he is the grandfather of Lady Dumbello, who is staying here. I wonder what you'd think of Lady Dumbello, or how you'd like to be shut up in the same house with her for a week \ LILY DALES FIRST LOVE-LETTER. 217 '' But with reference to mj staying at Barchester, I must tell you the truth now, though I was a gross impostor the day that I went away. I wanted to avoid a parting on that last morning, and therefore I started much sooner than I need have done. I know you wiU be very angry with me ; but open confession is good for the souL You frustrated all my little plan by your early rising ; and as I saw you standing on the terrace, looking after us as we went, I acknowledged that you had been right, and that I was wrong. When the time came, I was very glad to have you with me at the last moment. "My own dearest Lily, you cannot think how different this place is from the two houses at Arlington, or how much I prefer the sort of life which belongs to the latter. I know that I have been what the world calls worldly, but you will have to cure me of that. I have questioned myself very much since I left you, and I do not think that I am quite beyond the reach of a cure. At any rate^ I will put myself tnistingly into the doctor's hands. I know it is hard for a man to change his habits; but I can with tnith say this for myself, that I was happy at Allington, enjoying every hour of the day, and that here I am ennuy^ by everybody and nearly by everything. One of the girls of the house I do like ; but as to other people, I can hardly find a companion among them, let alone a friend. However, it would not have done for me to have broken away from all such alliances too suddenly. « When I get up to London — and now I really am anxious to get there — I can write to you more at my ease, and more freely than I do here. I know that I am hardly myself among these people, — or rather, I am hardly myself as you know me, and as I hope you always wiU know me. But, nevertheless, I am not so over- come by the miasma but what I can tell you how truly I love you. Even though my spirit should be here, which it is not, my heart would be on the Allington lawns. That dear lawn and that dear bridge ! " Give my kind love to Bell and your mother. I feel already that I might almost Bay my mother. And Lily, my darling, write 2i8 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. to me at once. I expect your letters to me to be longer, and better, and brighter than mine to yon. But I will endeavour to make mine nicer when I get back to town. " God bless you. Yours, with all my heart, "A. C." As he had waxed warm with his writing he had forced himself to be afiFectionate, and, as he flattered himself, frank and candid. Nevertheless, he was partly conscious that he was preparing for himself a mode of escape in those allusions of his to his own world- liness ; if escape should ultimately be necessaiy. '' I have tried," he would then say ; '' I have struggled honestly, with my best efforts for success ; but I am not good enough for such success." I do not intend to say that he wrote with a premeditated intention of thus using his words ; but as he wrote them he could not keep himself from reflecting that they might be used in that way. He read his letter over, felt satisfied with it, and resolved that he might now firee his mind from that consideration for the next forty-eight hours. Whatever might be his sins he had done his duty by Lily ! And with this comfortable reflection he deposited his letter in the Courcy Castle letter-box. CHAPTER XIX. THE SQUIRE MAKES A VISIT TO THE SMALL HOUSE. Mrs. Dale acknowledged to herself that she had not much ground for hoping that she should ever find in Crosbie's houfse much personal happiness for her future life. She did not dislike Mr. Crosbie, nor in any great degree mistrust him ; but she had seen enough of him to make her certain that Lily's future home in London could not be a home for her. He was worldly, or, at least, a man of the world. He would be anxious to make the most of his income, and his life would be one long struggle, not perhaps for money, but for those things which money only can give. There are men to whom eight hundred a year is great wealth, and houses to which it brings all the comforts that life requires. But Crosbie was not such a man, nor would his house be such a house. Mrs. Dale hoped that Lily would be happy with him, and satisfied with his modes of life, and she strove to believe that such would be the case ; but as regarded herself she was forced to confess that in such a marriage her child would be much divided from her. That pleasant abode to which she had long looked forward that she might have a welcome there in coming years should be among fields and trees, not in some narrow London street. Lily must now become a city lady ; but Bell would still be left to her, and it might BtUl be hoped that BeU would find for herself some country home. Since the day on which Lily had first told her mother of her engagement, Mrs. Dale had found herself talking much more fully «xid more frequently with Bell than with her younger daughter. 2 20 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. As long as Crosbie was at AUiDgton this was natural enough. He and Lily were of oourse together, while Bell remained with her mother. But the same state of things continued even after Crosbie was gone. It was not that there was any coolness or want of affection between the mother and daughter, but that Lily's heart was full of her lover, and that Mrs. Dale, though she had given her cordial consent to the marriage, felt that she bad but few points of sympathy with her future son-in-law. She had never said, even to herself, that she disliked him ; nay, she had some- times declared to herself that she waa fond of him. But, in truth, he was not a man after her own heart. He waa not one who could ever be to her as her own son and her own child. But she and Bell would pass hours together talking of Lily's prospects. " It seems so strange to me," said Mrs. Dale, " that she of all girls should have been fancied by such a man as Mr. Crosbie, or that she should have liked him. I cannot imagine Lily living in London." '' If he is good and affectionate to her she will be happy wherever be is," said Bell. *' I hope so ; — I'm sure I hope so. But it seems as . though she will be so far separated from us. It is not the distance, but the manner of life which makes the separation. I hope you'll never be taken so far from me." " I don't think 1 bhall allow myself to be taken up to London/' said Bell, laughing. '' But one can never tell. If I do you must follow us, mamma." " I do not want another Mr. Crosbie for you, dear." '* But perhaps I may want one for myself. You need not tremble quite yet, however. Apollos do not come this road every •lay." '' Poor Lily ! Do you remember when she first called him Apollo 9 I do, welL I remeijnb^r his coming here the day after Bernard brought him down^ and how you were playing on the lawn, while I was in the other garden. I little thought then what it would come to." 221 " But, mamma^ you don't regret it ? *' '' Not if it's to make her happy. If she can be happy with him, of course I shall not regret it ; not though he were to take her to the world's end away from us. What else have I to look for but that she and you should both be happy ? '* << Men in London are happy with their wives as weU as men in the country." " Ohy yes ; of all women I should be the first to acknowledge that." '' And as to Adolphus himself, I do not know why we should distrust him.'" '' No, my dear ; there is no reason. If I did distrust him, I should not have given so ready an assent to the marriage. But, nevertheless *' ^' The truth is, you don't like him, mamma." "Not so cordially as I hope I may like any man whom you may choose for your husband." And Lily, though she said nothing on the subject to Mrs. Dale, felt that her mother waa in some degree estranged from her. Crosbie's name was frequently mentioned between them, but in the tone of Mrs. Dale's voice, and in her manner when she spoke of him, there was lacking that enthusiasm and heartiness which real sympathy would have produced. Lily did not analyse her ovm feelings, or closely make inquiry as to those of her mother, but she perceived that it was not all as she would have wished it to have been. " I know mamma does not love him," she said to Bell on the evening of the day on which she received Crosbie*s first letter. " Not as you do, Lily ; but she does love him." ''Not as I do 1 To say that is nonsense, Bell; of course she does not love him as I do. But the truth is she does not love him at all. Do you think I cannot see it ? " ** I'm afraid that you see too much.** *' She never says a word against him ; but if she really liked him she would sometimes say a word in his favour. I do not think 222 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. she would ever mention his name miless you or I spoke of him before her. If she did not approve of him, why did she not say so sooner % " " That's hardly fair upon mamma," said Bell, with some^ earnest- ness. " She does not disapprove of him, and she never did. You know mamma well enough to be sure that she would not inter- fere with us in such a matter without very strong reason. As regards Mr. Crosbie, she gave her consent without a moment's hesitation." "Yes, she did." " How can you say, then, that she disapproves of him ? " ''I didn't mean to find fault with mamma. Perhaps it will come all right." *' It will come all right." But Bell, though she made this very satisfactorry promise, was as well aware as either of the others that the family would be divided when Crosbie should have mar- ried Lily and taken her off to London. On the following morning Mrs. Dale and Bell were sitting together. Lily was above in her own room, either writing to her lover, or reading his letter, or thinking of him, or working for him. In some way she was employed on his behalf, and with this object she was alone. It was now the middle of October, and the fire was lit in Mrs. Dale's drawing-room. The window which opened upon the lawn was closed, the heavy curtains had been put back in their places, and it had been acknowledged as an unwelcome fact that the last of the summer was over. This was always a sorrow to Mrs. Dale ; but it is one of those sorrows which hardly admit of open expression. " Bell," she said, looking up suddenly ; " there's your uncle at the window. Let him in." For now, since the putting up of the curtains, the window had been bolted as well as closed. So Bell got up, and opened a passage for the squire's entrance. It was not often that he came down in this way, and when he did so it was generally for some purpose which had been expressed before. ^ H.I v>C^ ^ 223 "What! fires already?" said he. ''I never have fires at the other house in the morning till the first of November. I like to see a spark in the grate after dinner." " I like a fire when I'm cold," said Mrs. Dale. But this was a subject on which the squire and his sister-in-law had differed before, and as Mr. Dale had some business in hand, he did not now choose to waste bis energy in supporting his own views on the question of fires. " Bell, my dear," said he, " I want to speak to your mother for a minute or two on a matter of business. Yon wouldn*t mind leaving us for a little while, would you 1 " Whereupon Bell collected up her work and went upstairs to her sister. ^' Uncle Christopher is below with mamma," said she, '' talking about business. I suppose it is something to do with your marriage." But Bell was wrong. The squire's visit had no reference to Lily's marriage. Mrs. Dale did not move or speak a word when Bell was gone, though it was evident that the squire paused in order that she might ask some question of him. " Mary," said he, at last, *' I'U tell you what it is that I have come to say to you." Whereupon she put the piece of needlework which was in her hands down upon the work-basket before her, and settled herself to listen to him: " I wish to speak to you about BelL" *' About Bell ? " said Mrs. Dale, as though much surprised that he should have anything to say to her respecting her eldest daughter. " Yes, about Bell. Here's Lily going to be married, and it will be well that Bell should be married too." '* I don't see that at all," said Mrs. Dale. '' I am by no means in a hurry to be rid of her." "No, I dare say not. But, of course, you only regard her welfare, and I can truly say that I do the same. There would be no necessity for hurry as to a marriage for her under ordinary circumstances, but th^i^^ ixt|ty be circumstances to make sUch a thing desirable, and T 'think that there are." It was evident 224 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. from the squire's tone and manner that he was very much in earnest ; but it was also evident that he found some difficulty in opening out the budget with tthich he had prepared himself. He hesitated a little in his voice, and seemed to be almost nervous. Mrs. Dale, with some little spice of ill-nature, altogether abstained from assisting him. She was jealous of interference from him about her girls, and though she was of course bound to listen to him, she did so with a prejudice against and almost with a resolve to oppose anything that he might say. When he had finished his little speech about circumstances, the squire paused again ; but Mrs. Dale still sat silent, with her eyes fixed upon his face. " I love your children very dearly,'* said he, " though I believe you hardly give rae credit for doing so." ** I am sure you do," said Mrs. Dale, " and they are both well aware of it." "And I am very anxious that they should be comfortably established in life. I have no children of my own, and those of my two brothers are everything to me." Mrs. Dale had always considered it as a matter of course that Bernard should be the squire's heir, and had never felt that, her daughters had any claim on that score. It was a well-understood thing in the family that the senior male Dale should have all the Dale property and all the Dale money. She fully recognized even the propriety of such an arrangement. But it seemed to her that the squire was almost guilty of hypocrisy in naming his nephew and his two nieces together, as thoagh they were the joint heirs of his love. Bernard was his adopted son, and no one had begrudged to the uncle the right of making such adoption. Bernard was every- thing to him, and as being his heir was bound to obey him in many things. But her daughters were no more to him than any nieces might be to any uncle. He had nothing to do with their disposal in marriage ; and the mother's spirit was already up in arms and prepared to do battle for her own independence, and for that of her children. " If Bernard would marry well," said she, " I have no doubt it would be a Comfort to you," — ^meaning to imply ^L? 225 therebj that the squire had no right to tronble herself about any other marriage. " That's just it," said the squire. " It would be a great comfort to me. And if he and Bell could make up their minds together it would, I should think, be a great comfort to you also." " Bernard and Bell I " exclaimed Mrs. Dale. " No idea of such a unipn had ever yet come upon her, and now in her surprise she sat silent. She had. always liked Bernard Pale, having fult for him more family affection than for any other of the Dale family bejond her own hearth. He had been very intimate in her house, having made himself almost as a brother to her girls. But she had never thought of him as a husband for either of tliem. " Then Bell has not spoken to you about it," said the s(\uire. " Never a word." " And you had never thought about it ? " "Certainly not." " I have thought about it a great deal. For some years I have always been thinking of it. I have set my heart upon it, and shall be very unhappy if it cannot Le brought about. They are both very dear to me, — dearer than anybody else. If 1 could see them man and wife, I should not much care then how soon I left the old place to them." Thejce was a purer touch of feeling in this than the squire had ever before shown in his sister-in-law's presence, and more hearti- ness than she had given him the credit of possessintr. And she she could not but acknowledge to herself that her own child was included in this unexpected warmth of love, and that she was bound at any rate to entertain some gratitude for such kindness. " It is good of you to think of her," said the mother ; ** very good." " I think a great deal about her," said the squire. " But that does not much matter now. The fact is, that she has declined Bernard's offer." " Has Bernard offered to her ? '* " So he tells me ; and she has refused him. It may perhaps be VOL. I. Q 226 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. natural that she should do so, never having taught herself to look at him in the light of a lover. I don't blame her at all. I am qot angry with her." " Angry with her ! No. You can hardly be angry with her for not being in love with her cousin." " I say that I am not angry with her. But I think she might undertake to consider the question. You would like such a match, would you not ? " Mrs. Dale did not at first make any answer, but began to revolve the thing in her mind, and to look at it in various points of view. There was a great deal in such an arrangement which at the first sight recommended it to her very strongly. All the local circumstances were in its favour. As regarded herself it would promise to her all that she had oyer desired. It would give her a prospect of seeing very much of Lily ; for if Bell were settled at the old family house, Orosbie would naturally be much with his friend. She liked Bernard also ; and for a moment or two fancied, as she turned it all oyer in her mind, that, even yet, if such a marriage were to take place, there might grow up something like true regard between her and the old squire. How happy would be her old age in that Small House, if Bell with her children were living so close to her ! "Well ? '* said the squire, who was looking very intently into her face. "I was thinking,'* said Mrs. Dale. " Do you say that she has already refused him % " " I am afraid she has ; but then you know " " It must of course be left for her to judge." " If you mean that she cannot be made to marry her cousin, of course we all know she can't." " I mean rather more than that." "^ What do you mean, theil 1 " " That the matter must be left altogether to her own decision ; that no persuasion must be used by you or me. If he can persuade her, indeed '* 227 ** Yes, exactly, He must persuade her. I quite agree with you that he should have liherty to plead his own cause. But look you here, Maiy ; — ^she has always been a very good child to you " ** Indeed she has." " And a word from you would go a long way with her, — as it ought If she knows that you would like her to marry her cousin, it will make her think it her duty ^" " Ah ! but that is just what I cannot try to make her think/' " Will you let me speak, Mary ? You take me up and scold me before the woinis are half out of my mouth. Of course I know that in these days a young lady is not to be compelled into marrying anybody ; — not but that, as far as I can see, they did better than they do now when they had not quite so much of their own way." " I never would take upon myself to ask a child to marry any man." " But you may explain to her that it is her duty to give such a proposal much thought before it is absolutely refused. A girl either is in love or she is riot. If she is, she is ready to j ump down a man's throat ; and that was the case with Lily." " She never thought of the man till he had proposed to her fuUy.'' " Well, never mind now. But if a girl is not in love, she thinks she is bound to swear and declare that she never will be so." " I don't think Bell ever declared anything of the kind." " Yes, she did. She told Bernard that she didn't love him and couldn't love him, — and, in fact, that she wouldn't think anything more about it. Now Mary, that's what I call being headstrong and positive. I don't want to drive her, and I don't want you to drive her. But here is an arrangement which for her will be a very good one ; you must admit that. We all know thatshe is on ex- cellent terms with Bernard. It isn't as though they had been falling out and hating each other all their lives. She toldsa^that she was very fond of him, and talked nonsense about being his sister, and all that." '' I don't see that it was nonsense at all." q8 /^^ 228. THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. " Yes, it was nonsense, — on such an occasion. If a man aaks a girl to marry him, he doesn't want her to talk to him about being his sister. I think it is nonsense. If she would only consider about it properly she would soon learn to love him.'* " That lesson, if it be learned at all, must be learned without any tutor." " You won't do anything to help me then 1 " ** I will, at any rate, do nothing to mar you. And, to tell the truth, I must think over the matter fully before I can decide what I had better say to Bell about it. From her not speaking to me " " I think she ought to have told you." " No, Mr. Dale. Had she accepted him, of course she would have told me. Had she thought of doing so she might probably have consulted me. But if she made up her mind that she must reject bim " *' She oughtn't to have made up her mind." " But if she did, it seems natural to me that she should speak of it to no one. She might probably think that Bernard would be as well pleased that it should not be known." ** Psha, — known !— of course it will be known. As you want time to consider of it, I will say nothing more now. If she were my daughter, I should have no hesitation in telling her what I thought best for her welfare." ^* I have none ; though I may have some in making up my mind as to what is best for her welfare. But, Mr. Dale, you may be sure of this ; I will speak to her very earnestly of your kindness and love for her. And I wish you would beUeve tJiat I feel your regard for her very strongly," In answer to this he merely shook his head, and hummed and hawed. '' You would be glad to see them married, as regards yourself 1 " he asked. " Certainly I would," said Mrs. Dale. " I have always liked Bernard, and I believe my girl would be safe with him. But then, you see, it's a question on which my own likings or dislikings should not have any bearing." 229 And so they parted, the squire making his way back again through the druwing-room window. He was not above half pleased with his interview ; but then he was a man for whom half-pleasure almost sufficed. He rarely indulged any expectation that people would make themselves agreeable to him. Mrs. Dale, since she had come to the Small House, had never been a source of stitisfao- tion to hkn, but he did not on that account regret that he had brought her there. He was a constant man ; urgent in carrying out his own plans, but not sanguine in doing so, and by no means apt to expect that all things would go smooth with him. He had made up his mind that his nephew and his niece should be married, and should he ultimaiely fail in this, such failure would probably embitter his future life ; — but it was not in the nature of the man to be angry in the meantime, or to fume and scold because he met with opposition. He had told Mrs. Dale that he loved Bell dearly. So he did, though he seldom spoke to her with much show of special regard, and never was soft and tender with her. But, on the otlier hand, he did not now love her the less because she opposed his wishes. He was a constant^ undemonstrative man, givea rather to brooding than to thinking; harder in his words thaa in his thoughts, with more of .heart than others believed, or than he himself [knew ; but, above all, he was a man who having once desired a thing would desire it always. Mrs. Dale, when she was left alone, began to turn over the question in her mind in a much fuller manner than the squire's presence had as yet made possible for her. Would not such a marriage as this be for them all the happiest domestic arrange- ment which circumstances could afford ? Her daughter would have no fortune, but here would be prepared for her all the com- forts which fortune can give. She would be received into her uncle's house, not as some penniless, portionless bride whom Bernard might have married and brought home, but as the wife whom of all others Bernard's friends had thought desirable for him. And then, as regarded Mrs. Dale herself, there would be nothing in such a marriage which would not be delightful to 230 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. her. It would .give a realization to all her dreams of future happiness. But, as she said to herself over and over again, all that must go for nothing. It must he for Bell, and for he^r only, to answer Bernard's question. In \y&t mind there was something sacred in that idea of love. She would regard her daughter almost as a castaway if she were to marry any man without ahsolutely loving \^x£l^ — loving him as Lily loved her lover, with all her heart and all her strength. With such a conviction as this strong upon her, she felt that she could not say much to Bell that would be of any service. CHAPTER XX. DR. OROFTS. If there was anything in the world as to whicli Isabella Dale was quite certain, it was this — that she was not in love with Dr. Crofts. As to being in love with her cousin Bernard, she had never had occasion to ask herself any queation on that head. She liked him very well, but she had never thought of marrying him ; and now, when he made his proposal, she could nut bring herself to think of it. But as regards Dr. Crofts, she had thought of it, and had made up her mind ; — in the manner above described. It may be said that she could not have been justified in dis- cussing tkie matter even within her own bosom, unless authorized to do so by Dr. Crofts himself. Let it then be considered that Dr. Crofts had given her some such authority. This may be done in more ways than one ; and Miss Dale could not have found her- self asking herself questions about him, unless there had been fitting occasion for her to do so. The profession of a medical man in a small provincial town is not often one which gives to its owner in early life a large income. Perhaps in no career has a man to work harder for what he earns, or to do more work without earning anything. It has sometimes seemed to me as though the young doctors and the old doctors hjid agreed to divide between thera the different results of their profession, — the young doctors doing all the work and the old doctors taking all the money. If this bu so it may account for that appearance of premature gravity wiiich is borne by so many of the medical profession. Under sucli an arrange- 232 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON, ment a man may bie excused for a desire to put away childish thin^ very early in life. Dr. Crafts had now been practising in Guestwick nearly seyen years, having settled himself in that town when he was twenty- three years old, and being at this period about thirty. During those seven years his skill and industry had been so fully admitted that he had succeeded in obtaining the medical care of all the paupers in the union, for which work he was paid at the rate of one hundred pounds a year. He was also assistant-surgeon at a small hospital which was maintained in that town, and held two or three other similar public positions, all of which attested his re- spectability and general proficiency. They, moreover, thoroughly saved him from any of the dangers of idleness ; but, unfortunately they did not enable him to regaird himself as a successful profes- sional man. Whereas old Dr. Gruffen, of whom but few people spoke well, had made a fortune in Guestwick, and even still drew from the ailments of the town a considerable and hardly yet de- creasing income. Now this was hard upon Dr. Crofts — unless there was existing some such well-understood arrangement as that above named. He had been known to the; family of the Dales long previous to his settlement at Guestwick, and had been very intimate with them from that time to the present day. Of all the men, young or old, whom Mrs. Dale counted among her intimate friends, he was the one whom she most trusted and admired. And Jie was a man to be trusted by those who knew him well. He was not bright and always ready, as wafl Crosbie, nor had he all the prac- tical worldly good sense of Bernard Dale. In mental power I doubt whether he was superior to John Eames ; — ^to John Eames^ such as he might become when the period of his hobbledehoyhood should have altogether passed away. But Crofts, compared with ^he other three, as they all were at present, was a man more to be trusted than any of them. And there was, moreover, about him an occasional dash of humour, without which Mrs. Dale would hardly have regarded him with that thorough liking which she had DR. CROFTS, a33 for him. But it was a quiet humour, apt to bHow itself when he had but one friend with him, rather than in general society. Crosbie, on the other hand, would be much more bright among a dozen, than he could with a single companion. Bernard Dale was never bright ; and as for Johnny Eames \ but in this matter of brightness^ Johnny Eames had not yet shown to the world what his character might be. It was now two years since Crofts had been called upon for medical advice on behalf of his friend Mrs. Dale. She had then been ill for a long period — some two or three months, and Dr. Crofts had been frequent in his visits at Allington. At that time he became very intimate with Mrs. Dale's daughters, and espe- cially 80 with the eldest. Young unmarried doctors ought per- haps to be excluded from houc^es in which there are young ladiea I know, at any rate, that many sage matrons hold very strongly to that opinion, thinking, no doubt, that doctors ought to get themselves married before they venture to begin working for a living. Mrs. Dale, perhaps, regarded her own girls as still merely children, for Bell, the elder, was then hardly eighteen ; or perhaps she held imprudent and heterodox opinions on this sub- ject ; or it may be that she selfishly jn^ferred Dr. Crofts, with all the danger to her children, to Dr. Grufien, with all the danger to herself. But the result was that the young doctor one day in- formed himself, as he was riding back to Guestwick, that much of his happiness in this world would depend on his being able to marry Mrs. Dale's eldest daughter. At that time his total income amounted to little more than two bundred a year, and he had re- solved within his own mind that Dr. Gruffen was esteemed as much the better doctor by the general public opinion of Guestwick, and that Dr. Gruffen's sandy-haired assistant would even have a better chance of success in the town than himself, should it ever come to pass that the doctor was esteemed too old for personal practice. Crofts had no fortune of his own, and he was aware that Miss Dole had none. Then, under those circumstances, what was he to do ) 234 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. It is not necessary that we should inquire at any great length into those love passages of the doctor's life which took place three years before the commencement of this narrative. He made no declaration to Bell ; but Bell, young as she was, under- stood well that he would fain have done so, had not his courage failed him, or rather had not his prudence prevented him. To Mrs. Dale he did speak, not openly avowing his love even to her, but hinting at it, and then talking to her of his unsatisfied hopes and professional disappointments. "It is not that I com- . plain of being poor as 1 am," said he ; " or at any rate, not so poor that my poverty must be any source of discomfort to me ; but I could hardly marry with such an income as I have at present.*' " But it will increase, will it not % " said Mrs. Dale. " It may some day, when I am becoming an old man," he said. " But of what use will it be to me then ? " Mrs. Dale could not tell him that, as far as her voice in the matter went, he was welcome to woo her daughter and marry her, poor as he was, and doubly poor as they would both be together on such a pittance. He had not even mentioned Bell's name, and had he done so she could only have bade him wait, and hope. After that he said nothing further to her upon the subject. To Bell he spoke no word of overt love ; but on an autumn day, when Mrs. Dale was already convalescent, and the repetition of his profes- sional visits had become unnecessary, he got her to walk with him through the half hidden shrubbery paths, and then told her things which he should never have told her, if he really wished to bind her heart to his. He repeated that story of his income, and ex- plained to her that his poverty was only grievous to him in that it prevented him from thinking of marriage. "I suppose it must," said Bell. " I should think it wrong to ask any lady to share such an income as mine," said he. Whereupon Bell had suggested to him that some ladies had incomes of their own, and that he might in that way get over the diflBiculty. " I should be afraid of myself in marrying a girl with money," said he ; " besides, that is alto- gether out of the question now." Of course Bell did not ask him DR. CROPTS. 235 wbj it was out of the question^ and for a time they went on walk- ing in silence. " It is a hard thing to do," he then said, — not looking at her, but looking at the gravel on which he stood. " It is a Iiard thing to do, but I will determine to think of it no further. I believe a man may be as happy single as he may married,— almost." " Perhaps more so," said BelL Then the doctor left her, iuid Bell, as I have said before, made up her mind with great firm^ ness that she was not in love with him« I may certainly say that there was nothing in the world as to which she was so certain as she was of this. And now, in these days. Dr. Crofts did not come over to Ailing- ton yeiy often. Had any of the family in the Small House been ill, he would have been there of course. The squire himself em- ployed the apothecary in the village^ or if higher aid was needed, vould send for Dr. Gruffen. On the occasion of Mrs. Dale's party, Crofts was there, having been specially invited ; but Mrs. Dale's special invitations to her friends were very few, and the doctor was M aware that he must himself make occasion for going there if he desired to see the inmates of the house. But he very rarely Qiade such occasion, perhaps feeling that he was more in his element &t the workhouse and the hospital. o Just at this time, however, he made one very great and unex- P^ed step towards success in his profession. He was greatly prised one morning by being sammoned to the Manor House to attend upon Lord De Guest. The family at the Manor had employed Dr. Gruffen for the last thirty years, and Crofts, when Qe received the earl's message, could -hardly believe the words. " The earl ain't very bad," said the servant, " but he would be glad to see you if possible a little before dinner." " You're sure he wants to see me 1" said Crofts. " ^h, yes ; I*m sure enough of that, sir." "It|wasn't Dr. Gruffen 1" \ " No, sir ; it wasn't Dr. Gruffen. I believe his lordship's had about enough of Dr. Gruffen. The doctor took to chaffing his lordship pn^ day." 236 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. " Chaffed his lordship ; — his hands and feet, and that sort of thing r' suggested the docton '' Hands and feet ! " said the man. ** Lord bless you^ sir, he poked his fun at him, just as though he was nobody. I didn't hear, but Mrs. Connor says that my lord's back was- up terribly high." And so Dr. Crofts got on his horse and rode up to Guest- wiok Manor. The earl was alone, Lady Julia having already gone to Courcy Castle. " How d'ye do, how d'ye do ?." said the earl. *' I'm not very ill, but I want to get a little advice from you. It's quite a trifle, but I thought it well to see somebody/' Whereupon Dr. Crofts of course declared that he was happy to wait upon his lordship. " I know all about you, ypu know," said the earL " Your grandmother Stoddard was a very. old friend of my aunt's. You don't remember Lady Jemima 1 " " No," said Crofts, ** I never, had that honour." '* An excellent old woman, and knew your grandmother Stoddard well. You see, Gruffen has been attending us for I don't know how many years ; but upon my word ■" and then the earl stopped himself. '^ It's an ill wind that blows nobody any good," said Crofts, with a slight laugh. ** Perhaps it'll blow me some good, for Gruffen never did me any. The fact is this ; I'm very well, you know ; — as strong as a horse." " You look pretty welL" " No man could be better, — ^not of my age, I'm sixty, you know." ' " You don't look as though you were ailing." '' I'm always out in the open air, and that, I take it, is the best thing for a man." " There's nothing like plenty of exercise, certainly," '^ And I'm always taking exercise," said the earl. ** There isn't a man about the place works much harder than I do. And, let DR, CROFTS, 237 me tell jon sir, when you undertake to keep six or seyen hundred acres of land in your own hand, you must look after it, unless you mean to lose money by it." " IVe always heard that your lordship is a good farmer." "Well, yes; wherever the grass may grow about my place, it doesn't grow under my feet. You won't often find me in bed at six o'clock, I can tell you." After this Dr. Crofts ventured to ask his lordship as to what special physical deficiency his own aid was invoked at the present time. "Ah, I was just coming to that," said the earl " They tell me it's a very dangerous practice to go to sleep after dinner." ^ " It's not very uncommon at any rate," said the doctor. "I suppose not; but Lady Julia is always at me about it. And, to tell the truth, I think I sleep almost too sound when I get to my arm-chair in the drawing-room. Sometimes my sister really can't wake me ; — so, at least, she says." "And how's your appetite at dinner ?" "Oh, I'm quite right there. I never eat any luncheon, you know, and enjoy my dinner thoroughly. Then I drink three or four glasses of port wine ^" " And feel sleepy afterwards ?" " That's just it," said the earL It is not perhaps necessary that we should inquire what was the exact nature of the doctor's advice ; but it was, at any rate, given in such a way that the earl said he would be glad to see him again. "And look here. Doctor Crofts, I'm all alone just at present. Suppose you come over and dine with me to-morrow ; then, if I should go to sleep, you know, you'll be able to let me know whether Lady Julia doesn't exaggerate. Just between ourselves. I don't quite believe all sbe says about my — ^my snoring, you ^ | know." Whether it was that the earl restrained his appetite when at dinner under the doctor's eyes, or whether the mid-day mutton' •238 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. chop which had been ordered for him had the desired. effect, or whether the doctor's conyersation was more lively than that of the Lady Julia, we will not say ; but the earl,, on the evening in question, was triumphant. As he sat in his easy-chair after dinner he hardly winked above once or twice.; and when he had taken the large bowl of tea, which he usually swallowed in a semi- somnolent condition, he was quite lively. " Ah, yes," he said, jumpUg up and rubbing his eyes ; " I think I do feel lighter. I enjoy a snooze after dinner; I do indeed ; I like it ; but then, when one comes to go to bed, one does it in such a sneaking sort of way, as though one were in disgrace ! And my sister, she thinks it a crime — literally a Bin, to go to sleep in a chair. Nobody ever caught her napping ! By-the-by, Dr. Croft, did yon know that Mr. Crosbie whom Ber- iniard Dale brought down to Allington % Lady Julia and he are staying at the same house now." '* I met him once at Mrs. Dale's." " Groing to marry one of the girls, isn't he ?" Whereupon Dr. Crofts explained that Mr. Crosbie was engaged to Lilian Dale. "Ah, yes; a nice girl; -I'm told. You know all those Dales are connections of ours. My sister Fanny married their unde Orlando. My brother-in-law doesn't like travelling, and so I don't see very much of him ; but of course I'm interested about the family." " They're very old friends of mine," said Crofts. " Yes, I daresay. There ftr©^ two girls, are there not ? " " Yes, two." '' And Miss Lily is the youngest. There's nothing about the elder one getting married, is there ?" " Pve not heard anything of it" " A very pretty girl she is, too. I remember seeing her at her uncle's last year. I shouldn't wonder if she were to many her cousin Bernard. He is to have the property, you know ; and he's my nephew." DR. CROFTS, 239 "I'm not quite sure that it's a good thing for cousins to naarry," said Crofts. " They do, you know, very often ; and it suits some family arrangements. I suppose Dale must provide for them, and that would take one oflf his hands without any trouble." Dr. Crofts didn't exactly see the matter in this light, but he was not anxious to argue it very closely with the earl. " The younger one," he said, "has provided for herself "What; by getting a husband? But 1 suppose Dale must give her something. They're not married yet, you know, and, from what I hear, that fellow may prove a slippery customer. He'U not marry her unless old Dale gives her something. You'll see if he does. I am told that he has got another string to his bow at Courcy Castle." Soon after this. Crofts took his horse and rode home, having promiged the earl that he would dine with him again before long. "Itll be a great convenience to me if you'd come about that time," said the earl, " and as you're a bachelor perhaps you won't mind it. You'll come on Thursday at seven, will you? Take care of yourself. It's as dark as pitch. John, go and open the first gates for Dr. Crofts." And then the earl took himself oflf to bed. Crofts, as he rode home, could not keep his mind from thinking of the two girls at Allington. " He'll iiot marry her imless old We gives her something." Had it come to that with the world, that a man must be bribed into keeping his engagement with a ^dy? Was there no romance left a^npng mankind, — no feeling of chivahy ? " He's got another string to his bow at Courcy Castle," said the earl ; and his lordship seemed to be in no degree shocked as he said it. It was in this tone that men spoke of women now- a-days, and yet he himself had felt such awe of the girl he loved, and such a fear lest he might injure her in her worldly position, that he had not dared to tell her that he loved her. CHAPTER XXL JOHN BAME8 ENCOUNTERS TWO ADVENTURES, AND DISPLAYS GREAT COURAGE IN BOTH. Lily thought that her lover's letter was all that it should be. She was not quite aware what might be the course of post between Couroy and AUington, and had not, therefore, felt very grievously disappointed when the letter did not come on the very first day. She had, however, in the course of the morning, walked down to the post-office, in order that she might be sure that it was not remaining there. " Why, miss, they be all delivered ; you know that," said Mrs. Crump, the post-mistresa "But one might be left behind, I thought.'* "John Postman went up to the house this very day, with a newspaper for your mamma. I can't make letters for people if folks don't write them." "But they are left behind sometimes, Mrs. Crump. He wouldn't come up with one letter if he'd got nothing else for anybody in the street." " Indeed but he would then.< I wouldn't let him leave a letter here no how, nor yet a paper. It's no good youVe coming down here for letters, Miss Lily. If he don't write to you, I can't make him do it." And so poor Lily went home discomfited. But the letter came on the next mornings and all was right. According to her judgment it lacked nothing, either in fulness or in affection. When he told her how he had planned his early de- parture in order that he might avoid the pain of parting with her on the last moment, she smiled and pressed the paper, and rejoiced I^Lu/ ^41 innrardlj that she had got the hetter of him as to that manoBuvre. And then she kissed the words which told her that he had been glad to have her with him at the last moment. When he declared that he had been happier at Allington than he was at Conrcy, she believed him thoroughly, and rejoiced that it should be so. And when he accused himself of being worldly, she excused him, per- suading herself- that he was nearly perfect in this respect as in others. Of course a man living in London, and having to earn his bread out in the world, must be more worldly than a coimtry girl ; but the fact of his being able to love such a girl, to choose such a one for his wife, — was not that alone sufficient proof that the world had not enslaved him ? " My heart is on the Allington lawns," he said ; and then, as she read the words, she kissed the paper again; In her eyes, and to her ears, and to her heart, the letter wa» a beautiful' letter. I believe there is no- bliss greater than that which a thorough love-letter grives to a girl who knows that in re- ceiving it she commits no fault, — who can open it before her father and mother with nothing more than the slight blush which the consciousness of her position gives her. And of all love-letters the first must be the sweetest ! What a value there is in every word ! How each expression is scanned and turned to the best account ! With what importance are all those little phrases invested, which too soon become mere phrases, used as a matter of course. Crosbie bad finished his letter by bidding God bless her ; " and you too," said Lily, pressing the letter to her bosom. " Does he say anything particular ? " asked Mrs. Dale. "Yes, mamma ; it's all very particular." " But there's nothing for the public ear." " He sends his love to you and Bell." "We are very much obliged to him." "So you ought to be. And he says that he went to churcji going through Barchester, and that the clergyman was the grand- father of that Lady Dumbello. When he got to Courcy Castle Lady Dumbello was there." VOL. I, B 242 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLIN'GTON " What a Bingalar coincidence ! " said Mrs. Dale. " I won't tell you a word more about his letter," said Ljly. So she folded it up, and put it in her pocket But as soon as she found herself alone in her own room, she had it out again, and read it over some half-a-dozen times. That was the occupation of her morning ; — that, and the manu- facture of some very intricate piece of work which was intended for the adornment of Mr. Crosbie's person. Her hands, however, were very full of work ; — or, rather, she intended that they should be full. She would take with her to her new home, when she was married, all manner of h(Hisehold gear, the produce of her own industry and economy. She had declared that she wanted to do something for her future husbond, and she would begin that some- thing at once. And in thi^ matter she did not belie her promises to herself, or allow her good intentions to evaporate unaccom- plished. She soon surrounded herself with harder tasks than those embroidered slippers with which she indulged herself immediately after his departure. And Mrs. Dale and Bell, — though in their gentle way they laughed at her, — nevertheless thej worked with her, sitting sternly to their long ta^ks, in order that Crosbie's house might not be empty, when their darling should go to take her place there as his wife. But it was absolutely necessary that the letter should be an- swered. It would in her eyes have been a great sin to have let that day's post go without carrying a letter from her to Courcy Castle, — a sin of which she felt no temptation to be guilty. It was an exquisite pleasure to her to seat herself at her little table with her neat desk and small appurtenances for epistle-craft, and to feel that she had a letter to write in which she had truly much to say. Hitherto her coiTcspondence had been uninteresting and almost weak in its nature. From her mother and sister she had hardly yet been parted ; and though she had other friends, she had seldom found herself with very much to tell them by post. What could she communicate to Mary Eames at Guestwick, which should be in itself exciting as she wrote it 1 When she wrote to John Eames, 243 and told *' Dear John " that mamma hoped to have the pleasure of seeing him to tea at such an hour, the work of writing was of little moment to her, though the note when written became one of the choicest treasure of him to whom it was addressed. But now the matter was very different. When she saw the words '^Dearest Adolphus" on the paper before her, she was startled with their significance. "And four months ago I had never heard of him,'' she said to herself, almost with awe. And now he was more to her, and nearer to her, than even was her sister or her mother I She recollected how she had laughed at him behind his back, and called him a swell on the first day of his coming to the Small House, and how, also, she had striven, in her innocent way, to look her best when called upon to go out * and walk with the stranger from London. He was no longer a stranger now, but her own dearest friend. She had put down her pen that she might think of all this — by no means for the first time — and then resumed it with a sudden « start as though fearing that the postman might be in the village before her letter was finished, " Dearest Adolphus, I need not tell you how delighted 1 was when your letter was brought to me this morning." But I will not repeat the whole of her letter here^ She had no incident to relate, none even so interesting as that of Mr. Crosbie*s encounter with Mr. Harding at Barchester. She had met no Lady Dumbello, and had no coimterpart to Lady Alexan- drina, of whom, as a friend, she could say a word in praise. John Eames's name she did not mention, knowing that John Eames was not a favourite with Mr. Crosbie ; nor had she anything to say of John Eames, that had not been already said. He had, indeed, promised to come over to Allington ; but this visit had not been made when Lily wrote her first letter to Crosbie. It was a sweet, good, honest, love-letter, full of assurances of unalterable affection and unlimited confidence, indulging in a little quiet fun as to the grandees of Oourcy Castle, and ending with a promise that she would be happy and contented if she might receive his letters con, stantly, and live with the hope of seeing him at Christmas. B 2 244 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. *' I am in time, Mrs. Crump, am I not ? " she said, as she walked into the post-oflBce. " Of course you be, — for the next half-hour. T' postman — he hain't stirred from t' ale*us yet» Just put it into t' box, wuU ye 1 *' " But you won't leave it there 1 " " Leave it there ! Did you over hear the like of that 1 If you're afeared to put it in, you can take it -away ; that^s all about it, Miss Lily." And then Mrs. Crump turned away to her avocations at the washing tub. Mrs. Crump had a bad temper, but perhaps she had some excuse. A separate call was made upon her time with referelice to almost every letter brought to her office, and for all this, as she often told her friends in profound disgust, she received as salaiy no more than ** tuppence farden a day. It don't find me in shoe-leather ; no more it don't. " As Mrs. Crump was never seen out of her own house, unless it was in church once a month, this latter assertion abput her shoe-leather, could hardly have been true. Lily had recJeived another letter, and had answered it before Eames made Lis promised visit to AUington. He, as will be re- membered, had also had a correspondence.' He had answered Miss Roper's letter, and had since that been living in fear of two things ; in a lesser fear of some terrible rejoinder from Amelia, and in a greater fear of a more terrible visit from his lady-love. Were she to swoop down in very truth upon his Guestwick home, and declare herself to his mother and sister as his affianced bride, what mode of escape would then be left for him ? But this she had not yet done, nor had she even answered his cruel missive. ** What an ass I am to be afraid of her ! " he said to himself as he walked along under the elms of Guestwick manor, which over- spread the road to AUington. When he first went over to Ailing- ton after his return home, he had mounted himself on horseback) and had gone forth brilliant with spurs, and trusting somewhat to the glories of his dress and gloves. But he had then known nothing of Lily's engagement. Now he was contented to walk ; and as he had taken up hjs slouched hat and stick in the passage «4S of his mother's house, he had been very indifferent as to his ap- pearance. He walked quickly along the road, taking for the first three milesthe «hade of the Gaestwick elms, and keeping his feet on the broad greensward which skirts the outside of the earl's palings. " What an ass I am to be afraid of her?" And as he swung his big stick in his hand, striking a tree here and there, and knocking the stones from his path, he began to question him- self in earnest, and to be ashamed of his position in the world. " Nothing on earth shall make me marry her," he said ; ^* not if thej bring a dozen actions against me. She knows as well as I do, that I have never intended to marry her. It*s a cheat from beginning to eud. If she comes down here, Til tell her so before my mother/' But as the vision of her sudden arrival came before his eyes, he acknowledged to himself that he still held her in great fear. He had told her that he loved her. He had written as much as that. If taxed with so much he must confess his sin. Then, by degrees, his mind turned away from Amelia lloper to Lily Dale, not giving him a prospect much more replete with en- joyment than that other one. He had said that he would call at AUington before he returned to town, and he was now redeeming bis promise. But he did not know why he should go there. He felt that he should sit silent and abashed in Mrs. Dale's drawing- room, confessing by his demeanour that secret which it behoved bim now to hide from every one. He could not talk easily before Lily, nor could he speak to her of the only subject which would occupy his thoughts when in her presence. If indeed, he might find her alone But, perhaps that might be worse for him than any other condition. When he was shown into the drawing-room there was nobody tbere. " They were here a minute ago, all three," said the servant girl. " If you'll walk down the garden, Mr. John, you'll be sure to find some of 'em." So John Eames, with a little hesitation, walked down the garden. First of all he went the whole way round the walks, meeting nobody. Then he crossed the lawn, returning again to the farther 246 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTOJST, end ; and there, emerging from the little path which led from the Great House, he encountered Lily alone. " Oh, John," she said, " how d'ye do 1 Tm afraid you did not find anybody in the house. Mamma and Bell are with Hopkins, away in the large kitchen- garden." *^ I've just come over," said Eames, " because I promised. I said I*d come before I went back to London.'* " And they'll be very glad to see you, and so am I. Shall we go after them into the other grounds % But perhaps you walked over and are tired.*' . " I did walk," said Eames ; « not that T am very tired." But in truth he did not wish to go after Mrs. Dale, though he was altogether at a loss as to what he would say to Lily while remain- ing with her. He had fancied that he would like to have some opportunity of speaking to her alone before he went away ; — of making some special use of the last interview which he should have with her before she became a married woman. But now the opportunity was there, and he hardly dared to avail himself of it. "You'll stay and dine with us," said Lily. " No, I'll not do that, for I especially told my mother that I would be back." " I'm sure it was very good of you to walk so far to see us. If you really are not tired, I think we will go to momma^ as she would be very sorry to miss you." This she said, remembering at the moment what had been Crosbie's injunctions to her about John Eames. But John had re- solved that he would say those words which he had come to speak, and that, as Lily was there with him, he would avail himself of the chance which fortune had given him. " I don't think I'll go into the squire's garden," he said. '^ Uncle Christopher is not there. He is about the farm some- where." " If you don't mind, Lily, I think I'll stay here. I suppose they'll be back soon. Of course I should like to see them before 247 I go away to London. But, Lily, T came over now chiefly to see you. It was you who asked me to promise." Had Crosbie been right in those remarks of his? Had she been imprudent in her little endeavour to be cordially kind to her old friend f " Shall we go into the drawing-room 1 " she said, feeling that she would be in 8ome degree safer there than out among the shnibs and paths of the garden. And I think she was right in this. A man will talk of love out among the lilacs and roses, who would be stricken dumb by the demure propriety of the four walls of a drawing-room. John Eames also had some feeling of this kind, for he determined to remain out in the garden, if he could so manage it, " I don't want to go }in unless you wish it," he said. " Indeed, Fd rather stay here. So, Lily, you're going to be married 1 '* And thus he rushed at once into the middle of his discourse. " Yes," said she, ** I believe I am." "I have not told you yet that I congratulated you;'* " I have known very well that you did so in your heart. I have always been sure that you wished me well.'' " Indeed I have. And if congratulating a person is hoping that she may always be happy, I do congratulate you. But Lily '' And then he paused, abashed by the beauty, purity, and woman's grace which had forced him to love her. " 1 think I understand all that you would say. I do not want ordinary words to tell me that I am to count you among my best friends." " No, Lily ; you don't understand all that I would say. You have never known how often and how much I have thought of you ; how dearly I have loved you." " John, you must not talk of that now." ** I cannot go without teUing you . When I came over here, and Mrs. Dale told me that you were to be married to that man " '* You must not speak of Mr. Crosbie in that way," she said, turning upon him almost fiercely. 248 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON, " I did not mean to say anything disrespectful of him to you, ] should hate myself if I were to do so. Of course you like hina better than anybody else 1" " I love him better than all the world besides." *' And so do I love you better than all the world besides." And as he spoke he got up from his seat and stood before her. " I know how poor I am, and unworthy of you ; and only that you are en- gaged to him, I don't suppose that I should now tell you. Of course you couldn't accept such a one as me. But I have loved you ever since you remember ; and now that you are going to be his wife, I cannot but tell you that it is so. You will go and live in London, but as to my seeing you there it will be impossible. I could not go into that man's house/* « Oh, John." " No, never ; not if you became his wife. I have loved you as well as he does. When Mrs. Dale told me of it, I thought I should have fallen. I went away without seeing you because I was unable to speak to you. I made a fool of myself, and have beeu a fool all along. I am foolish now to tell you this, but I cannot help it/' " You will forget it all when you see some girl that you caa really love." " And have I not really loved you 1 Well, never mind. I have said what I came to say, and I will now go. If it ever happens that we are down in the country together, perhaps I may see you again ; but never in London. Good- by, Lily.'* And he put out his hand to her. " And won't you stay for mamma T she said. "No. Give her my love, and to Bell. They understand all about it. They will know why I have gone. If ever you should want anybody to do anything for you, remember that I will do it, whatever it is." And as he paced away from her across the lawn, the special deed in her favour to which his mind was turned, — that one thing which he most longed to do on her behalf, — was an act of corporal chastisement upon Crosbie. If Crosbie would but ill- 249 treat her, — ill-treat her mih some antinuptial barbarity, — and if only he could be called in to ayenge her wrongs ! And as he made his way back along the road towards Guestwick, he built up within bis own bosom a castle in the air, for her part in which Lily Dale would by means have thanked him. Lily when she was left alone burst into tears. She had cer- tainly said very little to encourage her forlorn suitor, and had so borne herself during the interview that eveil Crosbie {could hardly have been dissatisfied ; but now that Eames was gone, her heart became very tender towards hi^l. She felt that she did love him also j — not at all as she loved Crosbie, but still with a love that was tender, soft, and true. If Crosbie could have known all her thoughts at that moment, I doubt whether he would have liked them. She burst into tears, and then hurried away into some nook where she could not be seen by her mother and Bell on their return. Eames went on his way, walking very quietly, swinging his stick and kicking through the dust, with his heart full of the scene which had just passed. He was angry with himself, thinking that he had played his part badly, accusing himself in that he had been rough to her, and selfish in the expression of his love ; and he was angry with her because she had declared to him that she loved Crosbie better than all the world besides. He knew that of couinse she must do so ;— that at any rate it was to be expected that such was the case. Yet he thought, she might have refrained from saying so to him. '' She chooses to scorn me now," he said to him- self; '' but the time may come when she will wish that she had scorned him." That Crosbie was wicked, bad, and selfish, he believed most fully. He felt sure that the man would ill-use her and make her wretched. He had some slight doubt whether he would marry her, and from this doubt he endeavoured to draw a scrap of comfort. If Crosbie would desert her, and if to him might be accorded the privilege of beating the man to death with his fists because of this desertion, then the world would not be quite blank for him. In all this he was no doubt very cruel to Lily j — but then had not Lily been very cruel to him ] 250 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. He was still thinking of these things when he came to the first of the Guest wick pastures. The boundary of the earl's property was very plainly marked, for with it commenced also the shady elms along the roadside, and the broad green margin of turf, grate- ful equally to those who walked and to those who rode. Eames had got himself on to the grass, but, in the fulness of his thoughts, was unconscious of the change in his path, when' he was startled by a voice in the next field and the loud bellowing of a bull. Lord De Guest's choice cattle he knew were there, and there was one special bull which was esteemed by his lordship as of great value, and (regarded as a high favourite. The people about the place declared that the beast was vicious, but Lord De Guest had often been heard to boast that it was never vicious with him. "The boys tease him, and the men are almost worse than the boys," said the earl ; '* but hell never hurt any one that has not hurt him." Guided by faith in his own teaching, the earl had taught himself to look upon his bull as a large, homed, innocent lamb o^ the flock. As Eames paused on the road, he fancied that he recognized the earl's voice, and it was the voice of one in distress. Then the bull's roar sounded very plain in his ear, and almost close ; upon hearing which he rushed on to the gate, and, without much thinking what he was doing, vaulted over it, and advanced a few steps into the field. " Halloo ! " shouted the earl. There's a man. Come on." And then his continued shoutings hardly formed themselves into ine- ligible words j but Eames plainly understood that he was invoking assistance under great pressure and stress of circumstances. The bull was makiiig short runs at his owner, as though determined in each run to have a toss at his lordship ; and at each run the earl would retreat quickly for a few paces, but he retreated always facing his enemy, and as the animal got near to him, would make digs at his face with the long spud which he carried in his hand. But in th\is making good his retreat he had been unable to keep in a direct line' to the gate, and there seemed to be great danger lest tiie bull should succeed in pressing him Up against the hedge. " Come on ! " shouted the earl, who was fighting his battle man- fully, but was by no means anxious to carry off all the laurels of the victory l^imself. ** Come on, I say ! " Then he stopped in his path, shouted into the bull's face, brandished his spud, and threw about his arms, thinking that Lo might best dismay the beast by the display of these warlike gestures. Johnny Eames ran on gallantly to the peer's assistance, as he would have run to that of any peasant in the land. He was one to whom I should be perhaps wrong to attribute at this period of his life the gift of very high courage. He feared many things which no man should fear ; but he did not fear personal mishap or iiyury to his own skin and bones. When Cradell escaped out of the house in Burton Crescent, making his way through the passage into the outer air, he did so because he feared that Lupex would beat him or kick him, or otherwise ill-use him. John Eames would also have desired to escape under similar circumstances ; but he would have so desired because he could not endure to be looked upon in his difficulties by the people of the house, and because his imagination would have painted the horrors of a policeman drag- ging him off with a black eye and a torn coat. There was no one to see him now, and no policeman to take offence. Therefore he rushed to the earl's assistance, brandishing his stick, and roaring in emulation of the bull. When the animal saw with what unfairness he was treated, and that the number of his foes was doubled, while no assistance had lent itself on his side, he stood for a while, disgusted by the injustice of humanity. He stopped, and throwing his head up to the heavens, bellowed out his complaint. " Don't" come close!" said the earl, who was almost out of breath. " Keep a little apart. Ugh ! ugh ! whoop, whoop ! " And he threw up his arms man- fully, jobbing about with his spud, ever and anon rubbing the per* spiration from off his eyebrows with the back of his hand. Ab the bull stood pausing, meditating whether under such cir- cumstances flight would not be preferable to gratified passion 252 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. Eames made a rush in at him, attempting to hit him on the head* The earl, seeing this, advanced a step also, and got his spud almost up to the auimal's eye. But these indignities the beast could not stand. He made a charge, betiding his head first towards John Eames, and then, with that weak vacillation which is as disgraceful in a bull as in a general, he changed his purpose, and turned his horns upon his other enemy. The consequence; was that his steps carried him in between the two, and that the earl and Eames found themselves for a while behind his tail " Now for the gate," said the earl. " Slowly does it ; slowly does it ; don't run ! " said Johnny, assuming in the heat of the moment a tone of counsel which would have been very foreign to him under other circumstances. The earl was not a whit offended. "All right," said he, taking with a backward motion the direction of the gate. Then as the bull again faced towards him, he jumped from the ground, labour- ing painfully with arms and legs, and ever keeping his spud well advanced against the foe. Eames, holding his position a little apart from his friend, stooped low and beat the ground with his stick, and as though defying the creature. The bull felt himself defied, stood still and roared, and then made another vacillating attack. " Hold on till we reach the gate," said Eames. " Ugh ! ugh ! Whoop ! whoop ! " shouted the earl. And so gradually they made good their ground. " Now get over," said Eames, when they had both reached the comer of the field in which the gate stood. " And what'U you do 1 " said the earl. " ril go at the edge to the right.'' And Johnny as he spoke dashed his stick about, so as to monopoliise, fpr a. moment, the at- tention of the brute. The earl made a spring at the gate, and got well on to the upper rung. The bull seeing that his prey was go- ing, made a final rush upon the earl and struck the timber furiously with his head, knocking his lordship down on the other side. Lord De Guest was already over, but not off the rail ; and thus, though 253 he fell, he fell in safety on the 'sward beyond the gate. He fell in safety, but utterly exhausted. Eames, as he had purposed, made a leap almost sideways at a thick edge which divided the field from one of the Guestwick copses. There was a fairly broad ditch, and on the other side a quickset hedge, which had, however, been weakened and injared by trespassers at this comer, close to the gate. Eames was young and active and jumped well. He jumped so well that he carried his body full into the middle of the quick- set, and then scrambled through to the other side, not without much injury to his clothes, and some damage also to his hands and face. The beast, recovering from his shock against the wooden bars, looked wistfully at his last retreating enemy, as he still struggled amidst the bushes. He looked at the ditch and at the broken hedge, but he did not understand how weak were the impediments in his way. He had knocked his head against the stout timber, which was strong enough to oppose him, but was dismayed by the brambles which he might have trodden under foot without an effort. How many of us are like the bull, turning away conquered by opposition which should be as nothing to us, and breaking our feet, and worse still, our hearts, against rocks of adamant. The bull at last made up his mind that he did not dare to face the hedge ; so he gave one final roar, and then turning himself round, walked placidly back amidst the herd. Johnny made his way on to the road by a st]Me that led out of ^j the copse, and was soon standing over the earl, while the blood ran down his cheeks from the scratches. One of the legs of his trowsers had been caught by a stake, and was torn from the hip downward, and his hat was left in the field, the only trophy for the bull. ** I hope you're not hurt, my lord," he said. " Oh dear, no ; but I'm terribly out of breath. Why, you're bleeding all over. He didn't get at you, did he 1 " '^ It's only the thorns in the hedge," said Johnny, passing his hand over his face. " But I've lost my hat.'* " There are plenty more hats," said the earl 2 54 THE SMALL HOLSE AT ALLINGTON. " I think ril have a try for it," said Johnny, with whom the means of getting hats had not been so plentiful as with the earL " He looks quiet now." And he moved towards the gate. But Lord De Guest jumped upon his feet, and seized the yoimg man by the collar of his coat. " Go after your hat I '* said he. " You must be a fool to think of it. * If you're afraid of catching cold, you shall have mine." " I'm not the least afraid of catching cold," said Johnny. " Is he often like that, my lord ? " And he made a motion with his head towards the bull. " The gentlest creature alive ; he's a lamb generally, — just like a lamb. Perhaps he saw my red pocket-handkerchief." And Lord De Guest showed his friend that he carried such an article. *' But where should 1 have been if you hadn't come up ? " " You*d have got to the gate, my lord.'! " Yes ; with my feet foremost, and four men carrying me. I'm very thirsty. You don't happen to carry a flask, do you ?" " No, my lord, I don't." " Then we'll make the best of our way home, and have a glass of wine there." And on this occasion his lordship intended that his offer should be accepted* CHAPTER XXII. LORD DE GOEST AT HOME. The earl and John Eames, after their escape from the bull, walked up to the Manor House together. " You can write a note to your mother, and I'll send it bj one of the boys/' said the earl. This was his lordship's answer when Eames declined to dine at the Manor House, because he would be expected home. " But I'm so badly off for clothes, my lord,'* pleaded Johnny. " I tore my trowsers in the hedge." " There will be nobody there beside us two and Dr. Crofts. The doctor will forgive you when he hears the story ; and as for me, I didn't care if you hadn't a stitch to your back. You'll have company back to Guest wick, so come along." Eames had no further excuse to offer, and therefore did as he was bidden. He was by no means as much at home with the earl now as duriAg those minutes of the combat. He would rather have gone home, being somewhat ashamed of being seen in his present tattered and bare-headed condition by the servants of the house ; and moreover, his mind would sometimes revert to the fioene which had taken place in the garden at Allington. But he found himself obliged to obey the earl, and so he walked on with him. through the woods. The earl did not say very much, being tired and somewhat thoughtful In what little he did say he seemed to be specially hurt by the ingratitude of the bull towards himself. '*I never teased him, or annoyed him in any way." ^ I suppose they are dangerous beasts ? " naid Eames. 256 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. '* Not a bit of it, if they're properly treated. It must have been my handkerchief, I suppose. I remember that I did blow my nose." He hardly said a word in the way of thanks to his assistant. " Where should I have been if you had not come to me % " he had exclaimed immediately after his deliverance ; but having said that he didn't think it necessary to say much more to Eames. But he made himself very pleasant, and by the time he had reached the house His companion was almost glad that he had been forced to dine at the Manor House. " And now well have a drink,*' said the earl. ** I don't know how you feel, but I never was so thirsty in my life." Two servants immediately showed themselves, and evinced some surprise at Johnny's appearance. '^ Has the gentleman hurt his- self, my lord?" asked the butler, looking at the blood upon our friend's face. << He has hurt bis trowsers the worst, I believe," said the earl. " And if he was to put on any of mine they'd be too short and too big, wouldn't they ? I am sorry you should be so uncomfortable, but you mustn't mind it for once." " I don't mind it a bit," said Johnny. " And I'm sure I don't," said the earl. " Mr. Eames is going to dine here, Vickers." " Yes, my lord." '< And his hat is down in the middle of the nineteen acres. Let three or four men go for it." " Three or four men, my lord ! " ** Yes, — three or four men. There's something gone wrong with that bull. And you must get a boy with a pony to take a note into Guestwick, to Mrs, Eames. Oh dear, I'm better now," and he put down the tumbler from which he'd been drinking. " Write your note here, and then we'll go and see my pet pheasants before dinner." Vickers and the footman knew that something had happened of much moment, for the earl was usually very particular about' his LORD DE GUEST AT HOME. 257 dinner-table. He expected evexy guest who sat there to be dressed in such guise as the fashion of the day demanded ; and he bimselfy though his morning costume was by no means brilliant, neyer dined, even when alone, without haying put himself into a suit of black, with a white cravat, and having exchanged the old silver hunting-watch which he carried during the day tied round his neck by a bit of old ribbon, for a small gold watch, with a chain and seals, which in the evening always dangled over his waistcoat. Dr. Gruffen had once been asked to dinner at Guest- wick Manor. " Just a bachelor's chop," said the earl ; "for there's nobody at home but myself." Whereupon Dr. Gruffen had come in coloured trousers, — and had never again been asked to dine at Guestwick Manor. All this Vickers knew well ; and now his lord- ship had brought young Eames home to dine with him with his clothes all hanging about him in a manner which Vickers declared in the servants* hall wasn't more than half decent. Therefore, they all knew that something very particular must have happened. "It's some trouble about the bull, I knowj" said Vickers ; — "but bless you, the bull couldn't have tore his tilings in that way !" Eames wrote his note, in which he told his mother that he had bad an adventure with Lord De Gue^, and that his lordship had insisted on bringing him home to dinner. " I have torn my trowsers all to pieces," hiB added in a postcript, *"and have lost my hat. Everything else is all right." He was not aware that the earl also sent a short note to Mrs. Eanes. " Dear Madam (ran the earl's note), — "Your son has, under Providence, probably saved my life. 1 will leave the story for him to tell. He has been good enough to accompany me home, and will return to Guestwick after dinner with Dr. Crofts, who dines here. I congratulate you on having a son with so much cool courage and good feeling. *|Your very faithful servant, " De Guest. "Guestwick Manor, ^uradayr Octohev, 186— r" TOL. I. s 258 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. And then they went to see the pheasants. " Now, IH tell you what," said the earl. " I advise you to take to shooting. It's the amusement of a gentleman when a man chances to have the command of game." " But I'm always up in London." " No, you're not. You're not up in London now. You always have your holidays. If you choose to try it, I'll see that you have shooting enough "while you're here. It's better than going to sleep under the trees. Ha, ha, ha ! I wonder what made you lay yourself down there. You hadn't been fighting a bull that day?" " No, my lord. I hadn't seen the bull then." " Well ; you think of what I have been saying. When I say a thing, I mean it You shall have shooting enough if you have a mind to try it." Then they looked at the pheasants, and pot- tered about the place till the earl said it was time to dress for dinner. "1 hat's hard upon you, isn't it?" said he. "But, at any rate, you can wash your hands, and get rid of the blood. I'D be down in the little drawing-room five minutes before seven, and I suppose I'll find you there." At five minutes before seven Lord De Guest came into the small drawing-room, and saw Johnny seated there, with a book before him. The earl was a little fussy, and showed by his manner that he was not quite at his ease, as some men do when they have any piece of work on hand which is not customary to them. He held something in his hand, and shuffled a little as he made his way up the room. He was dressed, as usual, in black ; but his gold chain was not, as usual, dangling over his waistcoat. '^ Eames," he said, " I want you to accept a little present from me, — just as a memorial of our affair with the bull. It will make you think of it sometimes, when I'm perhaps gone." " Oh, ray lord ^" " It'8»my own watch, that I have been wearing for some time ; but I've got another ; two or three, I believe, somewhere apstairs. You mustn't refuse me. I can't bear being refused. There are LORD DE GUEST AT HOME. 259 two or threie little seals, too, which I have worn. I have taken oft the one with my arms, because that's of no use to you, and it is to me. It doesn't want a key, but winds up at the handle, in this way," and the earl proceeded to explain the nature of the toy. "My lord, you think too much of what happened to-day," said Barnes, stammering. "No, I don't; I think very little about it. I know what I think of. Put the watch in your pocket before the doctor comes. There ; I hear his horse. Why didn't he drive over, and then he could have taken you back V "I can walk very well." " I'll make that all right. The servant shall ride Crofts' horse, and bring back the little phaeton. How d'you do, doctor % You know Eames, I suppose % You needn't look at him in that way. His leg is not broken ; it's only his trowsers.'' And then the earl told the story of the bull. " Johnny will become quite a hero in town," said Crofts. " Yes ; I fear he'll get the most of the credit ; and yet I was at it twice as long as he was. I'll tell you what, young men, when I got to that gate I didn't think I'd breath- enough left in me to get over it. It's all very well jumping into a hedge when you're only two-and-twenty ; but when a man comes to be sixty lie likes to take his time about such things. Dinner ready, is it ? So am I. I quite forgot that mutton-chop of yours to-day, doctor. But I suppose a man may eat a good dinner after a fight with a buur' The evening passed by without any very pleasurable excitement, ^d I regret to say that the earl went fast to sleep in the drawing- i^m as soon as he had swallowed his cup of coffee. During dinner ho had been very courteous to both his guests, but towards Eames he had used a good-humoured and almost affectionate familiarity. He had quizzed him for having been found*asleep under the tree, telling Crofts that he had looked very forlorn, — "So that I haven't a doubt about his being in love," said the 8 2 26q THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. ^arl. And he had asked Johnqy to tell the name of the fair onej bringing up the remnants of his half-forgotten classicalitieB to bear out the joke. " If I am to take more of the severe Falemian," said he, laying his hand on the decanter of port, *' I must know the lady's name. Whoever she be, I'm well sure you need not blush for her. What ! you refuse to tell ! Then I'll drink no more." And so the earl had walked out of the dining- roQm ; but not till he had perceived by his guest's cheeks that the joke harl been too tru^ to be pleasant. As he went, however, he leaned with his hand on Eames's shoulder, and the servants looking on saw that the young man was to be a fa- vourite. " He'll make him his heir," said Vickers. " I shouldn't wonder a bit if he don't make him his heir." But to this the footman objected, endeavouring to prove to Mr. Vickers that, in accordance with the law of the land, his lordship's second cousin, once removed, whom the earl had never seen, but whom he was supposed to hate, must be his heir. " A hearl can never choose his own heir, like you or me," said the footman, laying down the law. *' Can't he though really, now % That's very hard on hina ; isn't it % " said the pretty housemaid. " Phsa," said Vickers : " you know nothing about it. My lord could make young Eames his heir to-morrow ; that is, the heir of his property. He couldn't make him a hearl, because that must go to the heirs of his body. As to his leaving him the place here, I don't just know how that'd be ; and I'm sure Richard don't" '^ But suppose he hasn't got any heirs of his body % " asked the pretty housemaid, who was rather fond of putting down Mr. Vickers. "He must have heirs of his body," said the butler. " Every- body has 'em. If a man don't know 'em himself, the law finds 'em out." And then Mr. Vickers walked away, avoiding further dispute. In the meantime, the earl was asleep upstairs, and the two young men from Guestwick did not find that they could amuse themselves with any satisfaction. Each took up a book ; but there LORD DE GUEST AT HOME, 261 are times at which a man is quite UDable to read, and when a book is only a cover for his idleness or dulness. At last, Dr. Crofts sug- gested, in a whisper, that they might as well begin to think of going home. " Eh ; yes ; what 1 " said the earl : " I'm not asleep." In answer to which the doctor said that he thought he'd go home, if his lordship would let him order his horse. But the earl was again fast bound in slumber, and took no further notice of the proposition. ^* Perhaps we could get off without waking him," suggested Eames, in a whimper. " Eh ; what % " said ||i^ earL So they both resumed their books, and submitted themselves, to, their martyrdom for a further period of fifteen minutes. At the expiration of that time, the footman brought in tea. " Eh, what ? tea ! " said the earl. " Yes, we'll have a little tea. Tve heard every word youVe been saying." It was that assertion on the part of the earl which always made Lady Julia ho angry. " You cannot have heard what I have been saying, Theodore, be- cause I have said nothing," she would reply. " But I should have heard it if you had," the earl would rejoin, snappishly. On the present occasion neither Crofts nor Eames contradicted him, and he took his tea and swallowed it while still three parts asleep. " If you'll allow me, my lord, I think FU order my horse," said the doctor. " Yes ; horse — ^yes — " said the earl, nodding. " But what are you to do, Eames, if I ride ? " said the doctor. " m walk," whispered Eames, in his very lowest voice. "What — what — what % " said the earl, jumping up on his feet. " Oh, ah, yes ; going away, are you ] I suppose you might as well, as sit here and see me sleeping. But, doctor— I didn't snore, did I ? " ** Only occasionally." " Not loud, did 1 1 Come, Eames, did I snore loud % " " Well, my lord, you did snore rather loud two or three times." 262 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. '^ Did If said the earl, in a yoioe of great disappointment. ''And yet, do you know, I heard every word you said." The small phaeton had been already ordered, and the two young men started back to Guest wick together, a servant from the house ri(J ing the dixstor's horse behind them. '' Look here, Eames,'' said the earl, as they parted on the steps of the hall door. *' You're going back to town the day after to-morrow, you say, so I shan't see you again ? " ** No, my lord," said Johnny. " Look you here, now. I shall be up for the Cattle-show before Christmas. You must dine with me at my hotel, on the twenty- second of December, Pawkins's, in Jermyn Street ; seven o'clock, sharp. Mind you do not forget, now. Put it down in your pocket- book when you get home. Good-by, doctor ; good-by. I see I must stick to that mutton chop in the middle of the day." And then they drove off. '' He'll make him his heir for certain," said Vickers to himself as he slowly returned to his own quarters. " You were returning from Allington, I suppose," said Crofts> << when you came across Lord De Guest and the bull ? " " Yes : I just walked over to say good-by to them." " Did you find them all well ? " " I only saw one. The other two were out." " Mrs. Dale, was it 1 " " No ; it was Lily." " Sitting alone, thinking of hfer fine London lover, of course ? I suppose we ought to look upon her as a very lucky girl. I have no doubt she thinks herself so." " I'm sure I don't know," said Johnny. " I believe he's a very good young man," said the doctor ; " but I can't say 1 quite liked his manner." " I should think not," said Johnny. " But then in all probability he did not like mine a bit better, or perhaps yours either. And if so it's all fair." '' I don't see that it's a bit fair. He'a a snob," said Eames ; LORD DE GUEST AT HOME. 263 ** and I don't believe that I am." He had taken a glass or two of the earl's '* severe Falemian," and was disposed to a more generous confidence, and perhaps also to stronger language, than might otherwise have been the case. « No ; I don't think he is a snob," said Crofts. " Had he been so, Mrs. Dale would have perceived it" "You'll see," said Johuny, touching up the earl's horse with energy aa he spoke. '' Youll see. A man who gives himself airs is a snob ; and he gives himself airs. And I don't believe he's a straightforward fellow. It was a bad day for us all when he came among them at Allington." '* I can't say that I see that." '* I do. But mind, I haven't spoken a word of this to any one. And I don't mean. What would be the good? I suppose she must marry him now 1 " " Of course she must." " And be wretched all her life. Oh-h-h-h ! " and he muttered a deep groan. " Til tell you what it is, Crofts. He is going to take the sweetest girl out of this country that ever was in it, and he don't deserve her." " I don't think she can be compared to her sister," said Crofts slowly. " What ; not Lily 1 " said Eames, as though the proposition made by the doctor were one that could not hold water for a minute. "I have always thought that Bell was the more admired of the two," said Crofts. " m tell you what," said Eames. " I have never yet set my eyes on any human creature whom I thought so beautiful as Lily Dale. And now that beast is going to marry her I 111 tell you what, Crofts ; FU manage to pick a quarrel with him yet." Whereupon the doctor, seeing the nature of the complaint from which his companion was suffering, said nothing more, either about Lily or about Bell. Soon after this Eames was at his own door, and was received there by his mother and sister with all the enthusiasm due to 264 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. a hero. " He has saved the earl's life ! " Mrs* Eames had ex- claimed to her daughter on reading Lord De Guest's note. " Oh, goodness ! " and she threw herself back upon the sofa almost in a fainting condition. " Saved Lord De Guest's life ! " said Mary. "Yes — under Providence," said Mrs. Eames, as though that latter fact added much to her son's good deed. " But how did he do it % " " By cool courage and good feeling — so his lordship says. But I wonder how he really did do it ] " "Whatever way it was, he's torn all his clothes and lost his hat," said Mary. " I don't care a bit about that," said Mrs. Eames. " I wonder whether the earl has any interest at the Income-tax. What a thing it would be if he could get Johnny a step. It would be seventy pounds a year at once. He was quite right to stay and dine when his lordship asked him. And so Dr. Crofts is there* It couldn't have been anything in the doctoring way, I suppose. " No, I should say not ; because of what he says of his trowsers* A.nd so the two ladies were obliged to wait for John's return. '* How did you do it, John % " said his mother, embracing him, as soon as the door was opened. " How did you save the earl's life % " said Mary, who was standing behind her mother. " Would his lordship really have been killed, if it had not been for you % " asked Mrs. Eames. " And was he v^y much hurt 1 " adied Mary. " Oh, bother," said Johnny, on whom the results of the da/« work, together with the earl's Falemian, had made some still re- maining impression. On ordinary occasions, Mrs. Eames would have felt hurt at being so answered by her son ; but at the present moment she regarded him as standing so high in general favour that she took no offence. " Oh, Johnny, do tell us*. Of course we must be very anxiaus to know it all." ^There's njothing to tell, except that a bull ran at the earl» as I »» LORD DE GUEST AT HOME. 265 was going by ; so I went into the field and helped him, and then he made me stay and dine with him/' '^ But his lordship says that you saved his lifey" said Mary. " Under Providence," added their mother. "At any rate, he has given me a gold watch and chain," said Johnny, drawing the present out of his pocket. *' I wanted a watch badly. All the same, I didn't like taking it." "It would have been very wrong to refuse," said his mother. '' And I am so glad you have been so fortunate. And look here, Johnny : when a friend like that comes 'in your way, don't turn your back on him." Then, at last, he thawed beneath their kind- ness, and told them the whole of the story. I fear that in recount- ing the earl's efforts with the spud, he hardly spoke of his patron with all that deference which would have been appropriate. CHAPTER XXIII MB. FLANTAGBNET PALLISER. A WEEK passed over Mr. Orosbie's head at Courcy Castle with- out much iaconvenience to him from the well-known fact of his matrimonial engagement. Both George De Courcy and John De Courcy had in their different ways charged him with his offence, and endeavoured to annoy him by recurring to the subject ; but he did not care much for the wit or malice of George or John De Courcy. The countess had hardly alluded to Lily Dale after those few words which she said on the first day of his visits and seemed perfectly willing to regard his doings at Allington as the occupation natural to a young man in such a position. He had been seduced down to a dull country house, and had, as a matter of coiuse, taken to such amusements as the place afforded. He had shot the partridges and made love to the young lady, taking those little re- creations as compensation for the tedium of the squire's society. Perhaps he had gone a little too far with the young lady ; but then no one knew better than the countess how difficult it is for a young man to go far enough without going too &r. It was not her business to make herself a censor on a young man's conduct. The blame, no doubt, rested quite as much with Miss Dale as with him. She was quite sorry that any young lady should be disappointed ; but if girls will be imprudent, and set their caps at men above their mark, they must encounter disappointment. With such language did Lady De Courcy speak of the affair among her daughters, and her daughters altogether agreed with her that it was out of the question that Mr. Crosbie should marry Lily Dale. From Alexan- MR. PLANTAGENET PALLISER. 267 drina he encountered during the week none of that raillery which he had expected. He had promised to explain to her before he left the castle all the circumstances of his acquaintance with Lily, and she at last showed herself determined to demand the fulfilment of this promise ; but, previous to that, she said nothing to manifest either offence or a lessened friendship. And I regret to say, that in the intercourse which had taken place between them, that friend- ship was by no means less tender that it had been in London. "And when will you tell me what you promised?** she asked him one afternoon, speaking in a low voice, as they were standing together at the window of the billiard-room, in that idle half-hour which always occurs before the necessity for dinner preparation has come. She had been riding and was still in her habit, and he had retamed from shooting. She knew that she looked more than ordinarily well in her tall straight hat and riding gear, and was wont to hang about the house, walking skilfully with her upheld drapery, during this period of the day. It was dusk, but not dark, and there was no artificial light in the billiard-room. There had been some pretence of knocking about the balls, but it had been only pretence. " Even Diana," she had said, "could not have played billiards in a habit." Then she had put down her mace, and they had stood talking together in the recess of a large bow-window. " And what did I promise 1 " said Crosbie. " You know well enough. Not that it is a matter of any special interest to me ; only, as you imdertook to promise, of course my curiosity has been raised." " If it be of no special interest," said Crosbie, " " you will not object to absolve me from my promise." "That is just like you," she said. "And how false you men always are. You made up your mind to buy my silence on a dis- ^Mteful Bobject by pretending to offer me your future confidence ; and now you tell me that you do not mean to confide in me." "You begin by telling me that the matter is one that does not "1 the least interest you." " That is so false again ! You know very well what I meant« 268 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. Do you remember what you said to me the day you came ? and am I not bound to tell you after that, that your marriage with this or that young lady is not matter of special interest to me 9 Still, as your friend " " Well, as my friend ! »' " I shall be glad to know . But I am not going to beg for your confidence; only I tell you this fairly, that no man is so mean in my eyes, as a man who fights under false colours." " And am I fighting under false colours 1 " " Yes, you are." And now, as she spoke, the Lady Alexandriiia blushed beneath her hat ; and dull as was the remaining light of the evening, Crosbie, looking into her face, saw her heightened colour. "Yes, you are. A gentleman is fighting under false colours who comes into a house like this, with a public rumour of his being engaged, and then conducts himself as though nothing of the kind existed. Of course, it is not anything to me specially; but that is fighting under felse colours. ^ Now, sir, you may redeem the promise you made me when you first came here, — or you may let it alone." It must be acknowledged that the lady was fighting her battle with much courage, and also with some skill. In three or four days Crosbie would be gone ; and this victory, if it were ever to be gained, must be gained in those three or four days. And if there were to be no victory, then it would be only fair that Crosbie should be punished for his duplicity, and that she should be avenged as far as any revenge might be in her power. Not that she meditated any deep revenge, or was prepared to feel any strong anger. She liked Crosbie as well as she had ever liked any man. She believed that he liked her also. She had no conception of any very strong passion, but. conceived that a married life was more pleasant than one of single bliss. She had no doubt that he had promised to make Lily Dale his wife, but so had he previously promised her, or nearly so. It was a fair game, and she would win it if she could. If she failed, she would show her anger ; but she would show it in a mild, weak manner, — turning up her nose at Lily before Crosbie's MR, PLANTAGENET PALLISER, 269 face, and saying little things against himself behind his back. Her wrath would not carry her much beyond that. " Now, sir, you may redeem the promise you made me when you first came here, — or you may let it alone." So she spoke and then she turned her face away from him, gazing out into the darkness. ^' Alexandrina ! " he said. '' Well, sir ? But you have no right to speak to me in that style. Tou know that you have no right to call me by my name in that way ! " " You mean that you insist upon your title 1 " ^ All ladies insist on what you call their title, from gentlemen, except under the privilege of greater intimacy than you have the right to claim. You did not call Miss Dale by her Christian name till jqu'had obtained permission, I suppose ? " "You used to let me call you so.'* " Never ! Once or twice, when you have done so, I have not forbidden it, as I should have done. Very well, sir, as you have nothing to tell me, I will leave you. I must confess that I did not think you were such a coward." And she prepared to go, gather- ing up the skirts of her habit, and taking up the whip which she had laid on the window-sill. " Stay a moment, Alexandrina/' he said ; " I am not happy, &nd you should not say words intended to make me more miserable." " And why are you unhappy 1" '* Because I will tell you instantly, if I may believe that 1 am telling you only, and not the whole household.'' '^ Of course I shall not talk of it to others. Do you think that I cannot keep a secret % " *'It is because I have promised to marry one woman, and because I love another. I have told you everything now ; and if yon choose to say again that I am fighting under false colours I will leave the castle before you can see me again." "Mr. Crosbier* 2 70 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. '* Now you know it all, and may imagine whether or no I am very happy. I think you said it was time to dress ; — suppose we go?" And without further speech the two went off to their separate rooms. Crosbie, as soon as he was alono in his chamber, sat himself down in hb arm-chair, and went to work striving to make np his mind as to his future conduct. It must not be supposed that the declaration just made by him had been produced solely by his difficulty at the moment. The atmosphere of Courcy Castle had been at work upon him for the last week past. And every word that he had heard, and every word that he had spoken, had tended to destroy all that was good and true within him, and to foster all that was selfish and false. He had said to himself a dozen times during that week that he never could be happy with Lily Dale, and that he never could make her happy. And then he had used the pld sophistry in his endeavour to teach himself that it was right to do that which he wished to do. Would it not be better for Lily that he should desert her, than marry her against the dictates of his own heart 1 And if he really did not love her, would he not be committing a greater crime in marrying her than in deserting her ) He confessed to himself that he had been very wrong in allowing the outer world to get such a hold upon him, that the love of a pure girl like Lily could not suffice for his happiness. But there was the fact, and he found himself unable to contend against it. If by any absolute self-sacrifice he could secure Lily's well being, he would not hesitate for a moment. But would it be well to sacrifice her as well as himself? He had discussed the matter in this way within his own breast, till he had almost taught himself to believe that it was his duty to break off his engagement with Lily ; and he had almost taught himself to believe that a marriage with a daughter of the house of Courcy would satisfy his ambition and assist him in his battle with the world. That Lady Alexandrina would accept him he felt certain, if he could only induce her to forgive him for his sin in becoming engaged to Miss Dale. How very prone she MR. PLANTAGENET PALLISER. 271 would be to forgiveness in this matter, he had not divined, having not as yet learned how easily such a woman can forgive such a sin, if the ultimate triumph be accorded to herself. And there was another reason which operated much with Crosbie, urging him on in his present mood and wishes, though it should have given an exactly opposite impulse to his heart. He had hesitated as to marrying Lily Dale at once, because of the smallness of his income. Now he had a prospect of considerable increase to that income. One of the commissioners at his office had been promoted to some greater commissionership, and it was understood by everybody, that the secretary at the General Com- mittee Office would be the new commissioner. As to that there was no doubt. But then the question had arisen as to the place of secretary. Crosbie had received two or three letters on the subject, and it seemed that the likelihood of his obtaining this step in the world was by no means slight. It would increase his official income from seven hundred a year to twelve, and would place him altogether above the world. His friend, the present secretary, bad written to him, assuring him that no other probable competitor was spoken of as being in the field against him. If such good fortune awaited him, would it not smooth any present difficulty which lay in the way of his marriage with Lily Dale ? But, alas, he had not looked at the matter in that light ! Might not the countess help him to this preferment ? And if his destiny intended for him the good things of this world, — secretaryships, commissionerships, chairmanships, and such like, would it not be well that he should struggle on in his upward path by such assistance as good connections might give him ? He sat thinking over it all in his own room on that evening. He had written twice to Lily since his arrival at Courcy Castle, His first letter has been given. His second w£is written much in the same tone ; though Lily, as she had read it, had unconsciously felt somewhat less satisfied than she had been with the first. Expressions of love were not wanting, but they were vague and without heartiness. They savoured of insincerity, though there 272 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. was nothing in the words themselvies to convict them. Few liars can lie with the full roundness and self-sufficiency of truth ; and Crosbie, bad as he was, had not yet become bad enough to reach that perfection. He had said nothing to Lily of the hopes of promotion which had been opened to him; but he' had again spoken of his own worldliness — acknowledging that he received an unsatisfying satisfaction from the pomps and vanities of Courcy Castle. In fact he was paving the way for that which he had almost resolved that he would do, now he had told Lady Alexan- drina that he loved her ; and he was obliged to confess to himself that the die was cast. As he thought of all this, there was not wanting to him some of the satisfaction of an escape. Sopn after making that declara- tion of love at Allington he had begjun to feel that in making it he had cut his throat. He had endeavoured to pei'suade himself that he could live comfortably with his throat cut in that way ; and as long as Lily was with him he would believe that he could do so ; but as soon as he was again alone he would again accuse himself of suicide. This was his frame of mind even while he was yet at Allington, and his ideas on the subject had become stronger during his sojourn at Courcy. But the self-immolation had not been completed, and he now began to think that he could save himself. I need hardly say that this was not all triumph to him. Even had there been no material difficulty as to his deser- tion of Lily, — no uncle, cousin, and mother whose anger he must face, — no vision of a pale face, more eloquent of wrong in its silence than even uncle, cousin, and mother, with their indignant storm of words, — he was not altogether heartless. How should he tell all this to the girl who had loved him so well ; who had so loved him, that, as he himself felt, her love would fashion all her future life either for weal or for woe ? " I am unworthy of her and will tell her so,'' he said to himself. How many a false hound of a man has endeavoured to salve his own conscience by such mock humility? But he acknowledged at this moment, as he rose from his seat to dress himself, that the die was cast, and that it MR. PLANTA GENET PALLISER. %n waa open to him now to say what he pleased to Lady Alexandrina. ** Othei;9 have gone through the same fire before/' he said to him^ 9b14 as he walked downstairs^ '^and have come out scathless.'v And then he recalled to himself the names of yarious men of high repute in the world who were supposed to have committed in their younger days some such little mistake as that into which he had been betrayed. In passing through the hall he overtook Lady Julia De Quest, and was in time to open for her the door of the drawing-room. He then remembered that she had come into the bilUard-room at one side, and had gone out at the other, while he was standing with Alexandrina at the window. He had not, however, then thought much of Lady Julia ; and as he now stood for her to pass by him through the doorway, he made to her some indifferent remark. But Lady Julia was on some subjects a stem woman, and not without a. certain amoimt of courage. In the last week she had seen what had been going on, and had become more and more angry. Though she had disowned any family connection with Lily Dale, nevertheless she now felt for her sympathy and almost affection. Nearly every day she had repeated stiffly to the countess some incident of Crosbie's courtship and engagement to Miss Dale, — speaking of it as with absolute knowledge, as a thing settled at all points. This she had done to the countess alone, in the presence of the coimtess and Alexandrina, and also before all the female guests of the castle. But what she had said was received simply with an incredulous smile. *' Dear me 1 Lady Julia," the countess had replied at last, ^' I shall begin to think you are in love with Mr. Crosbie yourself ; you harp so constantly on this affair of his. One would think that young ladies in your part of the world must find it very difficult to get husbands, seeing that the success of one young lady is trumpeted so loudly." For the moment, Lady Julia was silenced ; but it was not easy to silence her altogether when she had a subject for speech near her heart. VOL. I. T 274 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTOLST. Almost all the Courcy world were assembled in the drawing- room as she now walked into the room with Crosbie at her heels. When she found herself near the crowd she turned round, and addressed him in a voice more audible than that generaQy required for purposes of drawing-room conversation. ** Mr. Crosbie,** slie said, " have you heard lately from our dear friend, Lily Dale % '* And she looked him full in the face, in a manner more significant^ probably than even she had intended it to be. There was, at once, a general hush in the room, and all eyes were turned upon her and upon him. Crosbie instantly made an effort to bear the attack gallantly, but he felt that he could not quite command his colour, or prevent a sudden drop of perspiration from showing itself upon his brow. " I had a letter from AUington yesterday," he said. " I suppose you have heard of your brother's encounter with the bull ?" " The bull ! ** said Lady Julia. And it was instantly manifest to all that her attack had been foiled and her flank turned. " Good gracious ! I^ady Julia, how very odd you are ! '* said the coimtess. " But what about the bull % " asked the Honourable George. '' It seems that the earl was knocked down in the middle of one of his own fields." "Oh, dear!" exclaimed Alexandrina. And sundry other ex- clamations were made by all the assembled ladies. ** But he wasn't hurt," said Crosbie. " A young man named Eames seems to have fallen from the sky and carried ofiP the earl on his back." *''• Ha, ha, ha, ha ! " growled the other earl, as he heard of the discomfiture of his brother peer. Lady Julia, who had received her own letters that day from Guestwick, knew that nothing of importance had happened to her brother; but she felt that she was foiled for that time. ^' I hope that there has not really been any accident," said Mr. Gazebeoy With a voice of great solicitude.- c *' My brother was quite well last night, thank. yon," said she. MR. PLANTAGENET PALLTSER. 2)5 And then the little groups again formed themBelves, and Ladj Julia was left alone on the comer of a sofa. ''Was that all an invention of yours, sir ?" said Alexandrina to Crosbie. " Not quite. I did get a letter this morning from my friend' Bernard Dale, — that old harridan's nephew \ and Lord De Guest has been worried by some of his animals. I wish I had told her that his stupid old neck had been broken." " Fie, Mr. Crosbie ! " " What business has she to interfere with me ? " '^ But I mean to ask the same question that she asked, and yoi> won't put me off with a cock-and-bull story like that." But then^ as she was going to ask the question, dinner was announced. " And is it true that De Guest has been tossed by a bull 1 " said the earl, as soon as the ladies were gone. He had spoken nothing during dinner except what words he had muttered into the ear of Lady Dumbello. It was seldom that conversation had many charms for him in his own house ; but there was a savour of pleasantry in the idea of Lord De Guest having been tossed, by which even he was tickled. " Only knocked down, I believe," said Crosbie. '' Ha, ha, ha," growled the earl ; then he filled his glass, and allowed some one else to pass the bottle. Poor man ! There was not much left to him now in the world which did amuse him. " I don't see anything to laugh at," said Plantagenet Palliser, who was sitting at the earl's right hand, opposite to Lord Dumbello. " Don't you ? " said the earl. " Ha, ha, ha ! " " Fll be shot if I do. From all I hear De Guest is an uncommon good farmer. And I don't see the joke of tossing a farmer merely because he^s a nobleman also. Do you ? " and he tui-ned round to Mr. Gazebee, who was sitting on the other side. The earl was an earl, and was also Mr. Gazebee's father-in-law. Mr. Plantagenet Palliser was the heir to a dukedom. Therefore, Mr. Gazebee merely simpered, and did not answer' the question put to him. T 2 ^)titv«h> , 2 76 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. Mr. Palliser said nothing more about it, nor did the earl ; and then the joke died away. Mr. Plantagenet Palliser was the Duke of Omnium's heir — heir to that nobleman's title and to his enormous wealth ; and, there- fore, was a man of mark in the world. He sat in the House of Commons, of course. He was about five-and-twenty years of age, and was, as yet, unmarried. He did not hunt or shoot or keep a yacht, and had been heard to say that he had never put a foot upon a race-course in his life. He dressed very quietly, never changing the colour or form of his garments ; and in society was quiet, reserved, and very often silent. He was tall, slight, and not ill-looking ; but more than this cannot be said for his personal appearance — except, indeed, this, that no one could mistake him for other than a gentleman. With his uncle, the duke, he was on good terms — that is to say, they had never quarrelled. A very liberal allowance had been made to the nephew; but the two relatives had no tastes in common, and did not often meet. Once a year Mr. Palliser visited the duke at his great country seat for two or three days, and usually dined with him two or three times during the season in London. Mr. Palliser sat for a borough which was absolutely under the duke's command ; but had accepted his seat under the distinct understanding that he was to take what> ever part in politics might seem good to himself. Under these well-understood arrangements, the duke and his heir showed to the world quite a pattern of a happy family. " So different to the earl and Lord Porlock ! " the people of West Barsetshire used to say. For the estates, both of the duke and of the earl, were situated in the western division of that county. Mr. Palliser was chiefly known to the world as a rising politician. We may say that he had everything at his command, in the way of pleasure, that the world could offer him. He had wealth, position, power, and the certainty of attaining the highest rank among, perhaps, the most brilliant nobility in the world. He was courted by all who could get near enough to court him. It is hardly too much to say that he might have selected a bride from all that was MR. PLANTAGENET PALLTSER. 277 most beautiful and best among English women. If he would have bought raoe-horses, and Lave expended thousaudu on the turf, he Would have gratified his uncle by doing so. He might have been the master of hounds, or the slaughterer of hecatombs of birds. But to none of these things would he devote himself. He had chosen to bo a politician, and in that pursuit he laboured with a zeal and perseverance which would have made his fortune at any profession or in any trade. He was constant in committee-rooms up to the very middle of August. He was rarely absent from any debate of importance, and never from any important division. Though he seldom spoke, he was always ready to speak if his pur- pose required it No man gave him credit for any great genius — few even oonsidered that he could become either an orator or a mighty stateiSman. But the world said that he was a rising man, and old Nestor of the Cabinet looked on him as one who would be able, at some far future day, to come among them as a younger brother. Hitherto he had declined such inferior offices as had been offered to him, bidiug his time carefully ; and he was as yet tied hand and neck to no party, though known to be liberal in all his political tendencies. He was a great reader — not taking up a book here, and another there, as chance brought books before him, bat working through an enormous course of books, getting up the great subject of the world's history — filling himself full of facts — though perhaps not destined to acquire the power of using those facts otherwise than as precedents. He strove also diligently to become a linguist — not without success, as far as a competent understanding of various languages. He was a thin-minded, plod- ding, respectable man, willing to devote all his youth to work, in order that in old age he might be allowed to sit among the Coun- cillors of the State. Hitherto his name had not been coupled by the world with that of any woman whom he had been supposed to admire ; but latterly it had been observed that he had often been seen in the same room with Lady Dumbello. It had hardly amounted to more than this \ but when it was remembered how undemonstrative were the 6 •'. -^78 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. ^ two persons ccmcemed — how little disposed was either of them to ftDj strong display of feeling — even this was thought matter to be mentioned. He certainly would speak to her from time ta time almost'with ana air of interest ; and Lady Dumbello, when she saw that he was in the room, would be observed to raise her head with some little show of life, and to look round as though there were something 4here on which it might be worth her while to allow her eyes to rest. When such innuendoes were abroad, no one would probably make more of them than Lady De Courcy. Many, when they heard that Mr. Palliser was to be at the castle, had expressed their surprise at her success in that quarter. Others, when they learned that Lady Dumbello had consented to become her guest, had. also wondeited greatly. But when it was ascer- tained that the two were to be there together, her good-natured friends had acknowledged that she was a very dever woman. To have either Mr. Palliser or Lady DumbeUo would have been a feather in her cap ; but to succeed in getting both, by enabling each to know that the other would-be there, was indeed a triumph. As regards JLady Dumbello, however, the bargain was not fairly ciEtrried out ; for, after all, Mr. Palliser came to Coiuxsy Castle only for two nights and a day, and during the whole of that day he was closeted with sundry large blue-books. As for Lady De Courcy, she did not care how he might be employed; ^ Blue-books and Lady Dumbello were all the same to her. Mr. Palliser had been at Courcy Castle, and neither enemy nor friend could d^ny the fact. This was his second evening j and as he had promised to meet his constituents at Silverbhdge at one p.m. on the following day, with the view . of explaining to them his own conduct and the political position of the world in general ; and as he was not to return from Silverbridge to Courcy, Lady Dumbello, if she made any way at all, must take advantage of the short gleam of sun- shine which the present hour afforded her. No one, however, could say that she showed any active disposition to monopolize Mr. PaUiaer's attention. When he sauntered into the drawing- MR, PLANTAGENET PALLISER, 279 room she was sitting, alone, in a large, low chair, made without arms, so as to admit the full expansion of her dress, but hollowed and round at the back, so as to afford her the support that was necessaiy to her. She had barely spoken three words since she had left the dining-room, but the time had not passed heayily with her. Lady Julia had s^ain attacked the countess about Lily Dale and Mr. Crosbie, and Alezandrina, driven almost to rage, had stalked off to the farther end of the room, not concealing her special concern in the matter. " How I do wish they were married and done with,'' said the countess j ^^ and then we should hear no more about them." All of which Lady Dumbello heard and understood ; and in all of it' she took a certain interest. She remembered such things, learning thereby who was who, and regulating her own conduct by what she learned. She was by no means idle at this or at other such times, going through, we may say, a considerable amount of really hard work in her manner of working. There she had sat speechless, unless when acknowledging by a low word of assent some expression of flattery from those around her. Then the door opened, and when Mr. Palliser entered she raised her head, and the faintest possible gleam of satisfaction might have been discerned upoft'her features. But she made no attempt to speak to him ; and when, as he stood at the table, he took up a book and remained thus standing for a quarter of an hour, she neither showed nor felt any impatience. After that Lord Dumbello came in, and he stood at the table without a book. Even then Lady Dumbello felt no impatience. Plantagenet Palliser skimmed through his little book, and pro- bably learned something. When he put it down he sipped a cup of tea, and remarked to Lady De Courcy that he believed it was only twelve miles to Silverbridge. " I wish it was a hundred and twelve," said the countess. " In that case I should be forced to start to-night," said Mi*. Palliser. qU- 28o THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. " " Then I wish it was a thousand and twelye," said Lady De Couroy. . < ''In that case I should not haye come at all^" said Mr. Palliser. He did not mean to be uncivil, and had only stated a fact. " The young men are becoming absolute beais," said the countess to her daughter Margaretta. He had been in the room nearly an hour when he did at last find himself standing close to Lady Dumbello : dose to her, and without any other very near neighbour. '' I should hardly have expected to find you here," he said. " Nor I you," she answered. '' Though, for the matter of that, we are both near our own homes." '' I am not near mine." " I meant Plumstead ; your father's place." " Yes ; that was my home once." " I wish I could show you my imcle's place. The castle is very fine, and he has some good pictures." " So 1 have heard." " Do you stay here long % " " Oh, no. I go to Cheshire the day after to-morrow. Lord Dumbello is always there when the hunting begins." "Ah, yes; of course. What a happy fellow he is; never any work to do ! His constituents never trouble him, I suppose 1 " " I don't think they ever do, much." After that Mr. Palliser sauntered away again, and Lady Dum- bello passed the rest of the evening in silence. It is to be hoped that they both were rewarded by that ten minutes of s3nnpathetio intercourse for the inconvenience which they had suffered in coming to Courcy Castle. But that which seems so innocent to us had been looked on in a different light by the stem moralists of that house. " By Jove ! " said the Honourable George to his cousin, Mr* Gresham, " I wonder how Dumbello likes it." I MR. PLANTAGENET PALLISEH. 281 " It seems to me that Dumbello takes it very easily.'' ''There are some men who will take anything easily/' said George, who, since his own marriage, had learned to have a holy horror of such wicked things. "She's beginning to come oat a little," said Lady Clandidlem to Lady De Courcy, when the two old women found themselves together over a fire in some back sitting-room. ''Still waters always run deep, you know." " I shouldn't at all wonder if she were to go off with him," said Lady De Courcy. " Hell never be such a fool as that," said Lady Clandidlem. '' I believe men will be fools enough for anything," said Lady De Courcy. " But, of course, if he did, it would come to nothing afterwards. I know one who would not be sorry. If ever a man was tired of a woman, Lord Dumbello is tired of her." Bat in this, as in almost everything else, the wicked old woman spoke scandal. Lord DumbeUo was still proud of his wife, and as fond of her as a man can be of a woman whose fondness depends upon mere pride. There had not been much that was dangerous in the conversa- tion between Mr. Palliser and Lady Dumbello, but I cannot saj the same as to that which was going on at the same moment between Crosbie andLady Alexandrina. She, as I have said, walked away in almost open dudgeon when Lady Julia recommenced her attack about poor Lily, nor did she return to the general circle during the evening. There were two large drawing-rooms at Courcy Castle, joined together by a narrow link of a room, whidi might have been called a passage, had it Hot been lighted by two windows coming down to the floor, carpeted aa were the drawing- rooms, and warmed with a separate fireplace. Hither she betook bersel^ and was soon followed by her married sister Amelia. ^^ That woman almost drives me mad," said Alexandrina, as they fitood together with their toes upon the fender. ** But^ mj dear, you of all people should not allow yourself to be driven mad on such a subject." I 282 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. ** That's all very well, Amelia." ^' The question is this, my dear, — what does Mr. Grosbie mean to do % " " How should I know 1 " " If you don't 4tnow, it will be safer to suppose that he is going to marry this girl, and in that case " '* Well, what in that case ) Are you going to be another Lady Julia 1 What do I care about the girl 1" " I don't suppose you care much about the girl ; and if you care as little about Mr. Grosbie, there's an end of it ; only in that case, Alexandrina^ " " Well, what in that case 1" " You know T don't w:aiit to preach to you. Can't you tell xa» at once whether you reklly like him ? You and I have always been good friends." And the married sister put her arm affec- tionately round the waist of her who wished to be married. " I like him well enough." " And has he made any declaration to you % " " In a sort of way hejjhas. Hark, here he is ! " And Grosbie, coming in from the larger room, joined the sisters at the fireplace. " We were driven away by the clack of Lady Julia's tongue,'* said the elder. " I never met such a woman," said Grosbie. *' There cannot well be many like her," said Alezandrina. And after that they all stood silent for a minute or two. Lady Amelia Gazebee was considering whether or no she would do well to go and leave the two together. If it were intended that Mr. Grosbie should marry her sister, it would certainly be well to give him an opportunity of expressing such a wish on his own part But i^ Alexandrina was simply making a fool of herself, then it would be well for her to stay. '' I suppose she would rather I should go," said the elder sister to herself ; and then, obeying the rule which should guide all our actions from one to another, she went back and joined the crowd. " Will you come on into the other room 1 " said Grosbie. MR, PLANTAGENET PALLISER. 283 " I think we are very well here," Alezandrina replied "But I wish to speak to you, — ^particularly," said he. '' And cannot you speak here ? " "No. They will be passing backwards and. forwards." Lady Alezandrina said nothing further, but led the wTay into the other lax^ room. That also was lighted, and there were in it four or five persons. Lady Rosina was reading a wprk on the millenniuiu, with a light to herself in one coruer. Her brother John was asleep in an arm-chair, and a young gentleman and lady was playing chess. There was, however, ample room for Crosbie apd . Alez- andrina to take up a position apart. " And now, Mr. Crosbie, what have you got to 6ay to me ? But, first, I mean to repeat Lady Julia's question, as I told you that I should do. — When did you hear last from Miss Dale ) '' 'f It is cruel in you to ask me such a question, fdter what I have already told you. You know that I have given to Miss Dale a promise of marriage.'* " Very well, sir. I don't see why you should b|ing me in here to tell me anything that is so publicly known as that. With such a herald as Lady Julia it is quite unnecessary.'' " If you can only answer me in that tone I will make an end of it at once. When I told you of my engagement, I told you also that another woman possessed my heart. Am I wrong to suppose that you knew to whom I alluded % " " Indeed, I did not, Mr. Crosbie. I am no conjuror, and I have not scrutinized you so closely as your friend Lady Julia." ^* It is you that I love. I am sure Imardly/nee3)say so now.** "Hardly, indeed, — considering that you are engaged to Miss Dale." " As to that I have, of course, to own that I have behaved fool- ishly ; — worse than foolishly, if you choose to say so. You cannot condemn me more absolutely than I condemn myself. But I have made up my mind as to one thiog. I will not marry where I do not love." Oh, it .Lily could have heard him as he then spoke ! " It would be impossible for me to speak in terms too high of Mi / ^5 *? 1 284 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. Dale ;|but I am quite sure that I could not make her happy as her husband." "Why did you not think of that before you asked her T said Aiexandrina. But t hero was very little of conde mnation in her tone. ** I ought to have done so \ but it is hardly for you to blame me with severity. Had you, when we were last together in London — ^had you been less ^" "Less what r' *' Less defiant/' said Grosbie, '' all this might perhaps have been avoided.'' § Lady Aiexandrina could not remember that she had been defiant ; but, however, she let that pass. '' Oh, yes ; of course it was my fault.'* ^ I went down there to AUington with my heart ill at ease, and now I have fallen into this trouble. I tell you all ag it has hap- ^ pened. It is impossible that I should marry Miss Dale. It would be wicked in me to do so, seeing that my heart belongs altogether to another. I have told you who is that other \ and now may I hope for an answer 1 " " An answer to what % " Is *' Alexandrinay will you be my wife 1 " '^ZIZ If it had been her object to bring him to a point-blank declara- tion and proposition of marriage, she had certainly achieved her object now. And she had that trust in her own power of manage- ment and in her mother's, that she did not fear that in accepting him she would incur the risk of being served as he was serving lily Dale. She knew her own position and his too weU for that. If she accepted him she would in due course of time beooine his wife, — let Miss Dale and all her friends say what they might to the contrary. As to that head she had no fear. But nevertheless she did not accept him at once. Though she wished for the prize, her woman's nature hindered her from taking it when it was offered to her. ** How long is it, Mr. Crosbie," she said, " since you put the same question to Miss Dale )" V ?l MR. PLANTA GENET PALLISER, 285 '' I have told you eTerything, Alexandrina, — as I promised that I would do. If you intend to punish me for doing so " " And I might ask another question. How long will it be before /ou put the same question to some other girl ) ^ He turned round as though to walk away from her in anger ; but when he had gone half the distance to the door he returned. '^ By heaven ! " he said, and he spoke somewhat roughly, too, '' ril have an answer. You at any rate have nothing with which to reproach me. All that I have done wrong, I have done through you, or on your behalf. You have heard my proposal. Do you intend to accept it ? " " I declare you startle me. If you demanded my money or my life, you could not be more imperious.*' ^ Certainly not more resolute in my determination.*' " And if I decline the honour ? " " I shall think you the most fickle of your sex." " And if I were to accept it 1 *' " I would swear that you were the best, the dearest, and the sweetest of women." " I would rather have your good opinion than your bad, cer- tainly/' said Lady Alezandrina. And then it was underatood by both of them that that affair was settled. Whenever she was called on in future to speak of Lily, she always|called her, '' that poor Miss Dale ; " but she never again spoke a word of reproach to her future lord about that little adventure. '' I shall tell mamma to-night^" she said to him, as she bade him good-night in some sequestered nook to which they had betaken themselves. Lady Jidia's eye was again on them as they came out frx>m the sequestered nook, but Alexandrina no longer cared for Lady Julia. '' George, I cannot quite understand about that Mr. Palliser. Isn't he to be a duke, and oughtn't he to be a lord now 1 " This question was asked by Mrs. George De Courcy of her husband, when they found themselves together in the seclusion of the nuptial chamber. ^ Yes ; hell be Duke of Omnium when the old fellow dies. I 2S6 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. think he*s one of the slowest fellows I ever came across. He'll take deuced good care of the property, though." ''But, George, do explain it to me. It is so stupid not to understand, and I am afraid of opening my mouth for fear of blundering." "Then keep your mouth shut, my dear. You'll learn all those sort of things in time, and nobody notices it if you don't say anything." ** Yes, but George ; — I don't like to sit silent all the night. I'd sooner be up here with a novel if I can't speak about 'anything." " Look at Lady Dumbello. She doesn't want to be always talking." " Lady Dumbello is very different from me. But do tell me, who is Mr. Palliser?" <' He's the duke's nephew. If he were the duke's son, he would be the Marquis of Silverbridge." " And will he be plain Mister till his unde dies ? " " Yes, a very plain Mister." ' " What a pity for him. But, George, — ^if I have a baby, and if he should be a boy, and if " " Oh, nonsense j it will be time enough to talk of that when he comes. I'm going to sleep." CHAPTER XXIV. A MOTHER-IN-LAW AND A FATHBR-IN-LAW. On the following morning Mr. Plantagenet Palliser was ofiP upon his political mission before breakfast ; — either that, or else some private comfort was afforded to him in guise of solitary rolls and cofiPee. The public breakfast at Courcy Castle was going on at eleven o'clock, and at that hour Mr. Palliser was already closeted with the Mayor of Silverbridge. " I must get off by the 3.45 train," said Mr. Palliser. " Who is there to speak after me 1 " " Well, I shall say a few words ; and Growdy, — hell expect them to listen to him. Growdy has always stood very firm by his grace, Mr. Palliser." "Mind we are in the room sharp at one. And you can have a fly, for me to get aw9.y to the station, ready in the yard. I won't go a moment before^ I can help. I shall be just an hour and a half myself. "^6; thank you, I never take any wine in the morn- ing." And I may here state that Mr. Palliser did get away by the 3.45 train, leaving Mr. Growdy still talking on the platform. Con- stituents must be treated with respect ; but time has become so dcalx>e now-a-days that that respect has to be meted out by the quarter of an hour with parsimonious care. In the meantime there was more leisure at Courcy Castle. Neither the countess nor Lady Alexandrina came down to break- fast, but their absence gave rise to no special remark. Break- fast at the castle was a morning meal at which people showed themselves, or did not show themselves, as it pleased them. Lady 288 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. Julia was there looking very glum, and Crosbie was sitting next to his future sister-in-law Margaretta, who already had placed herself on terms of close affection with him. As he finished his tea she whispered into his ear, '' Mr. Crosbie, if you could spare half an liour, mamma would so like to see you in her own room." Crosbie declared that he would be delighted to wait upon her, and did in truth feel some gratitude in being welcomed as a son-in-law into the house. And yet he felt also that he was being caught, and that in ascending into the priyate domains of the countess he would be setting the seal upon his own captivity. Nevertheless, he went with a smiling face and a light step, Lady Margaretta ushering him the way. " Mamma," said she ; " I have brought Mr. Crosbie up to you. T did not know that you were here, Alexandrina, or I should have warned him." The countess and her youngest daughter had been breakfasting together in the elder lady's sitting-room, and were now seated in a very graceful and well-arranged deshabille. The tea-cups out of which they had been drinking were made of some elegant porce- lain, the teapot and cream-jug were of chased silver and as delicate in their way. The remnant of food consisted of morsels of French roll which had not even been allowed to crumble themselves - in a disorderly fashion, and of infinitesimal pats of butter. If the morning meal of the two ladies had been as unsubstantial as the appearance of the fragments indicated, it must be presumed that they intended to lunch early. The countess herself was arrayed in an elaborate morning wrapper of figured silk, but the simple Alexandrina wore a plain white muslin peignoir, fastened with pink ribbon. Her hau-, which she usually carried in long rolls, now hung loose over her shoulders, and certainly added something to her stock of female charms. The countess got up as Crosbie entered, and greeted him with an open hand ; but Alexandrina kept her seat, and merely nodded at him a little welcome. " I must run down again," said Margaretta, "or I shall have left Amelia with all the cares of the house upon her." " Alexandrina has told me all about it," said the oountesa^ with A MOTHER-IN-LAW AND A FATHER-INLAW, 289 her sweetest smile ; " and I have given her my approval. I really do think you will suit each other very well." " I am very much obliged to you," said Crc^abie. ** I'm sure at any rate of this, — ^that she will suit me very well." " Yes ; I think she will. She is a good sensible girl." " Phsa, mamma ; pray don't go on in that Goody Twoshoes sort of way." " So you are, my dear. If you were not it would not be well for you to do as you are going to do. If you were giddy and harum-scarum, and devoted to rank and wealth and that sort of thing,- it would not be well for you to marry a commoner without fortune. I'm sure Mr. Crosbie will excuse me for saying so much as that." •* Of course I know," said Crosbie, " that I had no right to look so high." " Well ; we'll say nothing more about it," said the countess. " Pray don't," said Alexandrina. " It sounds so like a sermon." '^ Sit down, Mr. Crosbie," said the countess, *' and let us have a little conversation. She shall sit by you, if you like it. Nonsense, Alexandrina, — if he asks it ! " " Don't, mamma ; — I mean to remain where I am." " Very well, my dear ; — ^then remain where you are. She is a wilful girl, Mr. Crosbie ; as you will say when you hear that she has told me all that you told her last night." Upon hearing this, he changed colour a little, but said nothing. ** She has told me," continued the countess, ** about that young lady at Allington. Upon my word, I'm afraid you have been very naughty." " I have been foolish, Lady De Courcy." •* Of course \ I did not mean anything worse than that. Yes, you have been foolish ; — amusing yourself in a thoughtless way, you know, and, perhaps, a little piqued because a certain lady was not to be won so easily as your Royal Highness wished. Well, now, all that must be settled, you know, as quickly as possible. I don't want to ask any indiscreet questions ; but if the young lady VOL. I. . u 290 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. has really been left with any idea that you meant anything, don't you think you should undeceive her at once 1 " " Of course he will, mamma." " Of course you will ; and it will be a great comfort to Alexan- drina to know that the matter is arranged You hear what Lady Julia is saying almost every hour of her life. Now, of course, Alexandrina does not care what an old maid like Lady J ulia may say ; but it will be better for all parties that the rumour should be put a stop to. If the earl were to hear it, he might, you know " And the countess shook her head, thinking that she could thus best indicate what the earl might do, if he were to take it into his head to do anything. Crosbie could not bring himself to hold any very confidential intercourse with the countess about Lily ; but he gave a muttered assiu'ance that he should, as a matter of course, make known the truth to Miss Dale with as little delay as possible. He could not say exactly when he would write, nor whether he would write to her or to her mother ; but the thing should be done immediately on his return to town. " If it will make the matter easier, I will write to Mrs. Dale," said the countess. But to this scheme Mr. Crosbie objected very strongly. And then a few words were said about the earl. "I will tell him this afternoon," said the countess; '^and then you can see him to-morrow morning. I don't suppose he will say very much, you know ; and perhaps he . may think, — ^you won't mind my saying it> I'm sure, — that Alexandrina might have done better. But I don't believe that he'll raise any. strong objection. There will be something about settlements, and that sort of thing, of course." Then the countess went away, and Alexandrina was left with her lover for half an hour. When the half-hour was over, he felt tliat he would have given aU that he had in the world to have back the last four and twenty hours of his existence. But he had DO hope. To jilt Lily Dale would, no doubt, be within his power, but he knew that he could not jilt Lady Alexandrina De Courcy. A MOTHER-IN-LAW AND A FATHER-IN-LAW. 291 On the next monung at twelve o'clock he had his interview prith the father, and a very unpleasant interview it was. He was ushered into the earl's room, and found the great peer standing on the rug, with his back to the fire, and his hands in his breeches pockets. " So you mean to marry my daughter 1 " said he. " I'm not very well, as you see ; I seldom am." These last words were spoken in answer to Crosbie's greeting. Crosbie had held out his hand to the earl, and had carried his point so far that the earl had been forced to take one of his own out of his pocket, and give it to his proposed son-in-law. " If your lordship has no objection. I have, at any rate, her permission to ask for yours." "I believe you have not any fortune, have youl She's got none ; of course you know that % " "I have a few thousand pounds, and I believe she has as much." " About as much as will buy bread to keep the two of you from starving. It's nothing to me. You can marry her if you like ; only, look here, I'll have no nonsense. I've had an old woman in with me this morning, — one of those that are here in the house, — telling me some story about some other girl that you have made a fool of. It's nothing to me how much of that sort of thing you may have done, so that you do none of it here. But, — if you play any prank of that kind with me, you'll find that youVe made a mistake." Crosbie hardly made any answer to this, but got himself out of the room as quickly as he could. " You'd better talk to Gazebee about the trifle of money you've got," said the earl. Then he dismissed the subject from his mind, and no doubt imagined that he had fully done hi's duty by his daughter. On the day after this, Crosbie was to go. On the last afternoon, shortly before dinner, he was waylaid by Laily Julia^ who had passed the day in preparing traps to catch him. u 2 :s99 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON, . "Mr. Grosbie/' she said, "let me have one word with you. Is ithis true ) " ".Lady Julia," he said, "I really do not knew why you should een less efficacious than the state of his own health in producing that domefetic constancy which he no^ practised ; but it is certain that she Ljuked back with bitter regret to the happy days when she was deserted, jealous, and querulous. " Don't you wish we could get Sir Omicron to order him to the German Spas 1 " she had said to Margaretta. Now Sir Omicron was the great Loudon physician, and might, no doubt, do much in that way. But no such happy order had as yet been given ; and, as far as the family could foresee, paterfamilias intended to pass the winter •with them at Courcy. The guests, as I have said, were all gone, and none but the family were in the house when her ladyship waited upon her lord one morning at twelve o'clock, a few days 312 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. after Mr. Dale's visit to the castle. Ke alwajs breakfasted alone, and after breakfast found in a Frentjh novel and a cigar what solace those innocent recreations were still able to afford iiim. When the novel no longer excited him and when he was saturated with smoke, he would send for his wife. After that his valet would dress him. " She gets it worse than I do," the man declared in the servants' hall ; " and minds it a deal more. I can give warning, and she can't." •* Better ? No, I ain't better," the husband said, in answer to his wife's inquiries. " I never shall be better while you keep that cook in the kitchen." ** But where are we to get another if we send him away ? " " It's not my business to find cooks. I don't know where you're to get one. It's my belief you won't have a cook at all before Iwg- It seems you have got two extra men into the house withoat telling mr." " We must have servants, yon know, when there is company. It wouldn't do to have Lady Dumbello here, and no one to wait on her."- " Who asked Lady Dumbello ? I didn't." 'M'm sure, my dear, you liked having her here." " D Lady Dumbello ! " and then there was a pause. The countess had no objection whatsoever to the above proposition, and was rejoiced that that question of the servants was allowed to dlip aside, through the aid of her ladyship. " Look at that letter from Porlook," said the earl ; and he pushed over to the unhappy mother a letter from her eldest son. Of all her children he was the one she loved the best ; but him she was never allowed to see under her own roof. " I sometimes think that he is the greatest rascal with whom I ever had occasion to concern myself," said the earl. She took the letter and read it. The epistle was certainly not one which a father could receive with pleasure from his son ; but the disagreeable nature of its contents was the fault rather of the parent than of the child. The writer intimated that certain money 313 due to bira had not been paid with necessary punctuality, and that unless be received Jit, he should instruct his lawyer to take some authorized legal [)roceeding8. Lord D« Courcy had raised certain moneys on the family property, which be could not have raised without the co-operation of bis heir, and had bound himself, in return for that co-operation, to pay a certain fixed income to his eldest son. This he regarded as an allowance from himself; but Lord Porlock regarded it as his own, by lawful claim. The son had not worded his letter with any aiFectionate phraseology. " Lord Porlock begs to inform Lord De Courcy " Such had been the it was love that made him so eager j not good, honest, downright love. But he had set his heart upon the object^ and with the wil- fulness of a Dale was determiued that it should be his. He had no remotest idea of giving up his. Cousin, but he had at last per- suaded himself that she was not to be" won without some toil, and perhaps also some delay. Nor had he been in a humour to talk either to Mrs. Dale or to Lily. He feared that Lady Julia's news was true, — that at any rate there might be in it something of truth ; and while thus in doubt he could not go down to the Small House. So he hung about the place by himself, with a cigar in his mouth, fearing that something evil was going to happen, and when the message came for liim, almost shuddered as he seated himself ip the gig. What would it become him to do in this emergency if Crosbie had truly been guilty of the villany with which Lady Julia had charged him t Thirty years ago he would have called the man out, and .shot at him till one of them was hit. Now-a-days it was hardly possible for a man to do that ; and yet what would the world say of him if he allowed such an injury as this to pass without vengeance 1 His uncle, as he came forth h:om the station with his travelling- 326 THE SMALL ffOUSE AT ALLINGTOI^, bag in his hand, was stem, gloomy, and silent. He came out and took bis place in tbe gig almost witbout speaking. Tbere were strangers about, and therefore bis nephew at first could ask no question, but as the gig turned the comer out of tbe station-house yard be demanded the news. " What have you beard ] *• be said. But even then the squire did not answer at once. He shook bis bead, and turned away his face, as though he did not choose to be interrogated. " Have you seen him, sir 1 " asked Bemai^d. '' No, be has not dared to see me." " Then it is true ] " " True ? — yes, it is all true. Why did you bring the scoundrel here 1 It has been your fault." *' No, sir ; I must contradict that. I did not know him for a scoundrel." ** But it was your duty to have known him before you brought him here among them. Poor girl 1 bow is she to be told 1 ** " Then she does not know it ? " " I fear not. Have you seen them 1 " '^ I saw them yesterday, and she did not know it then ; she may have heard it to-day.'* '' I don't think so. I believe be has been too great a coward to write to her. A coM^ard indeed ! How can any man find the courage to write such a letter as that? " By degrees the squire told his tale. How he had gone to Lady Julia, had made his way to London, had tracked Crosbie to his club, and had there learned the whole truth from Grosbie's friend. Fowler Pratt, we already know. " The coward escaped me while I was talking to the man he sent down,'' said the squire. '* It was a concerted plan, and I think be was right. I should have brained bim in the ball of the club." On the following morning Pratt had called upon him ^t his inn with Crosbi^*s apology. '* Hii^ apo- logy ! " said the squire. '' I have it in my pocket» Poor reptile \ Wretched worm of a man ! I cannot understand it. On my honour Bernard, I do not undentand it. I think men are changed since I knew much of them. It would have been impossible for me to write such a letter as thai.'" He went on telling how Pratt had brought him this letter, and had stated that Croebie declined an interview. ^ The gentleman had the goodness to assure me that no good could come from such a meeting. * You mea%' I answered * that I cannot touch pitch and not be defiled ! ' He acknowledged that the man was pitch. Indeed, he could not say a word for his friend.'' " I know Pratt He is a gentleman. I am sure he would not excuse him.^ " Excuse him ! How could any one excuse him t Words Could not be found to excuse him.^ And then he aat silent for some half mile. ** Ou my honour, Bernard^ I can hardly yet bring my- self to believe it. It is so new to me. It makes me feel that the world is changed, and that it is no longer worth a man's while to live in it.** ** And he is engaged to this other girl t " ^ Oh, yes ; with the full consent of the family. It is all arranged, and the settlements, no doubt, in the lawyer's hands by this time. He must have gone away from here determined to throw her over. Indeed, I don't suppose he ever meant to marry her. He was just passing away his time here in the country." ^'He meant it up to the time of his leaving.' " I don't think it. Had he found me able and willing to give her a fortune he might, perhaps, have married her. But I don't think he meant it for a moment after I told him that she would have nothing. Well, here we ara I may truly say that I never before came hsuck to my own house with so sore a heart." They sat silently over their supper, the squire showing more open sorrow than might have been expected from his character. ** What am I to say to them in the morning t" he repeated over and over ag«dn, " How am I to do it ? And if I tell the mother, how is she to tell her child 1 " << Do jou think that he has givea no intimation of his purpose t" 1^28 rif£: SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. B far as I can tell^ none. That man Pratt knew that he had not done bo yesterday afternoon. I asked him what were the intentions of liis Mackguard friend^ and he said that he did not know — that Crosbie woold probably have written to me. 'then he brought me this letter. There it is," and the squire threw the letter over the table ; " read it and let me have it back. He thinks probably that the troul le is now over as far as he is isoncemed." It was a vile letter to have written — not because the language was bad, or the mode of expression unfeeling, or the facts falsely stated — but because the thing to be told was in itself bo vile. There are deeds which will not bear a gloss — sins as to which the perpetrator cannot speak otherwise than as a reptile ; eircam- stances which change a man and put upon him the worthlessness of vermin. Crosbie had struggled hard to write it, going home to do it after his last interview on that night with Pratt. But he had sat moodily in his chair at his lodgings, unable to take the pen in hand. Pratt was to come to him at his office on the . fol- lowing morning, and he went to bed resolving that he would write it at his desk. On the next day Pratt was there before a word of it had been written. " I can't stand this kind of thing," said Pratt. " If you mean me to take it, you must write it at once." Then, with inward groaning, Crosbie sat himself at his table, and the words at last were forthcoming. Such words as they were \ ** I [know that I can have no excuse to make to you — or to her. But, circum* stanced as I now am, the truth is the best. I feel that I should not make Miss Dale happy ; and, therefore, as an honest man, I think I best do my duty by relinquishing the honour which she ^nd you had proposed for me.^ There was more of it, but we all know of what words such letters are composed, and how men write when they feel themselves constrained to write as reptiles^ '^ As an honest man ! " repeated the squire. '^ On my honoiu; Bernard, as a gentleman, I do not understand it. I cannot believe it possible that the man who wrote that letter was sitting the other day as a guest at my table.'' 329 " What are we to do to him ) " said Bernard, after a while. " Treat him as you would a rat. Throw your stick at him, if he comes under your feet ; but beware, above all things, that he does not get into your house. That is too late for us now.*' '* There must be more than that, uncle." '^I don't know what more. There are deeds for committing which a man is doubly damned, because he haB screened himself from overt punishment by the nature of his own villany. We have to remember Lily's name, and do what may best tend to her comfort. Poor girl I poor girl ! " Then they were silent, till the squire rose and took his bed candle. " Bernard," he said, " let my sister-in-law know early to morrow that I will see her here, if she will be good enough to come to me after breakfast. Do not have auy thing else said at the Small House. It may be that he has written to-day." Then the squire went to bed, and Bernard sat over the dining- room fire, meditating on it all. How would the world expect that he should behave to Crosbie ? and what should he do when he met Crosbie at the club ? CHAPTER XXVIII. THE BOARD. Crosbie, as we already know, went to his oflBoe in Whitehall on the morning after his escape from Sebright's, at which establish- ment he left the Squire of Allington in conference with Fowler Pratt. He had seen Fowler Pratt again that same night, and the course of the story will have shown what took place at that interview. He went early to his office, knowing that he had before him the work of writing two letters, neither of which would run very glibly from his pen. One was to be his missive to the squire, to b® delivered by his friend ; the other, that fatal epistle to poor Lily, which, as the day passed away, he found himself utterly unable to acoomplisL The letter to the squire he did write, under certain threats ; and, as we have seen, was considered to have degraded himself to the vermin rank of humanity by the meanness of his production. But on reachin ; his office he found that other cares awaited him, — cai-es which he would have taken much delight in bearing, had the state of his miud enabled him to take delight in anything. On entering the lobby of his office, at ten o'clock, he became aware tiiat he was received hj^ the messengers assembled there witb almost more than their usual deference. He was always a great man at the General Committee Office; but there are shades of greatness and shades of difference, which, though quite beyond the powers of definition^ nevertheless manifest themselves clearly to the experienced ear and [eye. He walked through to his own apart- THE BOARD. 33' nient, and there found two official letters addressed to him lying on his table. The first which came to hand, though official, was small, and marked private, and it was addressed iti the handwriting of his <)}d friend, Butterwell, the outgoing secretary. '' I shall see you in the morning, nearly as soon as you get this,'* said the semi" official note ; '' but I must be the first to congratulate you on the acquisition of my old shoes. They will be very easy in the wearing to you, though they pinched my corns a little at first. I dare say they want new soling, and perhaps they are a little down at heels ; but you will find some excellent cobbler to make them all right, and will give them a grace in the wearing which they have sadly lacked since they came into my possession. I wish you much joy with them, &c.," &o. He then opened the larger official letter, but that had now but little interest for him. He could have made a copy of the contents without seeing them. The Board of Commis- sioners had had great pleasure in promoting him to the office of secretary, vacated by the promotion of Mr. Butterwell to a seat at their own Board;, and then the letter was signed by Mr. Butter- well himself. Hew delightful to him would have been this welcome on his return to his office had his he. at in other respects been free from care 1 And as he thought of this, he remembered all Lily's charms. He told himself how much she excelled the noble scion of the De Courcy stock, with whom he was now destined to mate himself; how the bride he had rejected excdled the one he had chosen in gface, beauty, faithj freshness, and all feminine virtues. If he •co.uld only wipe out the last fortnight from the facts of his exist- ence ! But fortnights such as those are not to be wiped out, — not even with many sorrowful years of tedious scrubbing. And at this moment it seemed to him as though all those im- pediments which had frightened him when he had thought cf marrying Lily Dale were withdrawn. That which would have l)een terrible with seven or eight hundred a year, would have been made delightful with twelve or thirteen. Why had his fate been so un- kind to him ? Why had net this promotion come to him but one 332 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON, fortnight earlier ] Why had it not been declared before he had made his visit to that terrible castle 1 He even said to himself that if he had positively known the fact before Pratt had seen Mr. ,Dale, he woul^ have sent a different message to the squire, and would have braved the anger of all the race of the De Courcys. But in that he lied to himself, and he knew that he did so. An earl, in his imagination, was hedged by so strong a divinity, that his treason towards Alexandrina could do no more than peep at what it would. It had been considered but little by him, when the project first offered itself to his mind, to jilt the niece of a small rural squire ; but it was not in him to jilt the daughter of a countessi. That house full of babies in St. John's Wood appeared to him now under a very different guise from that which it wore as he sat in his room at Courcy Castle on the evening of his arrival there. Then such an establishment had to him the flavour of a graveyard. It was as though he were going to bury himself alive. Now that it was out of his reach, he thought of it as a paradise upon earth. And then he considered what sort of a paradise Lady Alexandrina would make for him. It was astonishing how ugly was the Lady Alexandrina, how old, how graceless, how destitute of all pleasant charm, seen through the spectacles which he wore at the present moment. During his first hour at the office he did nothing. One or two of the younger clerks came in and congratulated him with much heartiness. He was popular at his office, and they had got a step by his promotion. Then he met one or two of the elder clerks, and was congratulated with much less heartiness. '^ I suppose it's all right," said one bluff old gentleman. " My time is gone by, I know. I married too early to be able to wear a good coat when I was young, and I never was acquainted with any lords or lords' families' The stiug of this wiis the sharper because Crosbie had begun to feel how absolutely useless to him had been all that high interest and noble connection which he had formed. He had really been promoted because he knew more about his work than any of «k THE BOARD. J33 the other men, and Lady De Courcy's inflaential relation at the India Board had not yet eyen' hfaid tim^ to write a note iif^oti the subject. At eleven Mr. Butterwell came into Crosbio's room, and the new secretary was forced to clothe himself in smilt-s. Mr. Butterwell was a pleasant, handsome man of about filcy, who had never yet set the Thames on fire,' and had never attempted to do so. He was perhiips a little more civil to great meiiind a little t more patruuiziug to those below hiai thau he would have been had he been perfect. But there was something frank and English even in his mode of bowing befdre the mighty ohBs, and to those who were not mighty he was rather too civil thau either steni or supercilious. He knew that he was not very clever, but he knew also how to use those who were clever. He seldom made any mistake, and was very scrupulous not to tread on men's corns. Though he had no enemies, yet he had a friend or two ; and we may therefore say of Mr. Butterwell that he had walked his path in life discreetly. At the age of thirty-five he had married a lady with some little fortune, and now he lived a pleasant, easy, smiling life in a villa at Putney. When Mr. Butterwell heard, as be often did hear, of the difficulty which an English gentleman has of earning his bread in his own country, he was wont to look back on his own career with some complacency. He knew that he had not given the world much ; yet he had received largely, and no one had begrudged it to him.'' ** T'act," Mr, Butterwell used to say to himself, as he walked along the paths of his Putney villa. " Tact. Tact Tact.** ' " Crosbie," he said, as he entered the room cheerily, " I con- gratulate you with all my heart. I do, indeed. You have got the step early in life, and you deserve it thoroughly ;— much better than I did when I was appointed to the same office.^ " Oh, no," said Crosbie, gloomily. " But I say. Oh, ye^. We' are deuced lucky to have suc'i a man, and so I told the commissioners." "I'm sure I'm very much obliged to you*'^ j> »• 334 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON, " I've, known it all along, — before you left even. Sir Raffle Buifle had told me he was to go to the Income-tax Office. The chair is two thousand there, you know ; and I had been promised the first seat at the Board." " Ah ; — I wish Fd known/' said Crosbie. " You are much better as you are," said Butterwell. " There's no pleasure like a surprise ! Besides, one knows a thing of that kind, and yet doesn't know it. I don't mind saying now that I knew it, — swearing that 1 knew it, — but I wouldn't have said so to a living being the day before yesterday. There are such slips between the cups and the lips. Suppose Sir Ilaffle had not gone to the Income tax ! " " Exactly so,'' said Crosbie. ^* But it's all right now. Indeed I sat at the Board yesterday, though I signed the letter afterwarda I'm not sure that I don't lose more than I gain." ** What ! with three hundred a year more and less work ? " " Ah, but look at the interest of the thing. The secretary sees everything and knows everything. But I'm getting old, and, aa you say, the lighter work will suit mo. By the by, will you come down to Putney to-morrow ? Mrs. Butterwell will be delighted to see the new secretary. There's nobody in town now, so you can have no ground for refusing." But Mr. Crosbie did find some ground for refusing. It would have been impossible for him to have sat and smiled at Mrs, Butterwell's table in his present frame of mind. In a mysterious, half-explanatory manner, he let Mr. Butterwell know that private affairs of importance made it absolutely necessary that he should remain that evening in town. " And indeed," as he said, ** he was not his own master just at present." " By the by, — of course not. I had quite forgotten to con- gratulate you on that head. So you're going to be married? WeU ; I'm very glad, and hope you'll be as lucky as I have been," " Thank you," said Crosbie, again rather gloomily. " A young lady from near Guest wick, isn't it ; or somewhere in those parts % " THE BOARD. 335 " N no," stammered Crosbie. *' The lady comes ftom Barset- shire." '* Why, I beard the name. '' Isn't she a Bell, or Tait, or Ball or some such name as that 1 " *' No," said Crosbie, assuming what boldness he could command. ** Her name is De Courcy." " One of the earl's daughters ? '* "Yes," said Crosbie. '** Oh, J beg yoiu" pardon. I'd heard wrong. " You're going to be aUied to a very noble family, and I am heartily glad to hear of your success in life." Then Butterwell shook him very cordially by the hand, — having offered him no such special testimony of ap- proval when under the belief that he was going to marry a Bell, a Tait^ or a Ball. All the same, Mr. Butterwell began to think that there was something wrong. He had heard from an indubit- able source that Crosbie had engaged himself to a niece of a squire with whom he had been staying near Guestwick, — a girl without any money ; and Mr. Butterwell, in his wisdom, had thought his friend Crosbie to be rather a fool for his pains. But now he was going to marry one of the De Courcys! Mr. Butterwell was rather at his wits' ends. " Well ; we shall be sitting at two, you know, and of course you'll come to us. " If you're at leisure before that I'll make over what papers I have to you, I've not been a Lord Eldon in my office, and they won t break your back." ' Immediately after that Fowler Pratt had been shown into Crosbie's room, and Croabie had written the letter to the squire under Pratt's eye. He could take no joy in his promotion. When Pratt left him he tried to lighten his heart. He endeavoured to throw Lily and her wrongs behind him, and fix his thoughts on his advancing successes in life ; but he could not do it. A self-imposed trouble will not allow itself to be banished. If a man lose a thousand pounds by » friend's fault, or by a turn in the wheel of fortune, he can, if he be a man, put his grief down and trample it under foot ; he can ©xor^ ff 336 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON, else the spirit of his p:rievajioe, and bid tho evil one depart from out of his house. But such exorcism is not to be used when the sorrow has come from a man's own folly and sin ; — especially not if it has come from his own selfishness. Such are the cases which make men drink ; which drive them on to the avoidance of all thought ; which create gamblers and reckless prodigals ; which are the pro- moters of suicide. How could he avoid writing this letter to Lily ? He might blow his brains out, and so let there be an end of it all. It was to such reflections that he came, when he sat himself down endeavouring to reap satisfaction from his promotion. But Crosbie w^as not a man to commit suicide. In giving hi in his due I must protest that he was too good for that. He knew too well tliat a pistol-bullet could not be the be-all and the end-all here, and there was too much manliness in him for so cowardly an escape. The burden must be borne. But how was he to bear it ? There he sat till it was two o'clock, neglecting Mr. Bjitterwell and his office papers, and not stirring from his, seat till a messenger summoned him before the Board. The Board, as he entered the room, was not such a Board as the public may, perhaps, imagine such Boards to be. There was a round table, with a few pens lying about, and a comfortable leathern arm-chair at the side of it, farthest from the door. Sir Raffle Buffle was leaving his late colleagues, and was standing with his back to the fire-place, talking very loudly. Sir Raffle was a great bully, and the Board was un- commonly glad to be rid of him ; but as this was to, be^his last appearance at the Committee Office, they submitted, to his voice . meekly. Mr. Butter well was standing close to him, essaying to laugh mildly at Sir Raffle's jokes. A little man, hardly moris than five feet high, with small but honest-looking eyes, and close-cut hair, was standing behind the arm-chair, rubbing his hands together^ and longing for the departure of Sir Raffle, in order that he might, sit down. This was Mr. Optimist, the new chairman, in praise of whose appointment the Daily Jupiter had been so loud, declaring that the present Minister was showing ^^himself superior to aU, Ministers who had ever gone befoi'e hina, in giving promotion THE BOARD. 337 solely on the score of merit. The Daily Jupiter, a fortnight since, had published a very eloquent article, strongly advocating the claima of Mr. Optimist, and was naturally pleased to find that its advice had been taken. Has not an obedient Minister a right to the praise of those powers which he obeys % Mr. Optimist was, in truth, an industrious little gentleman, Very well connected, who had served the public all his life, and who was, at any rate, honest in his dealings. Nor was he a bully, such as his predecessor. It might, however, be a q>ieafion whether he k / /arried guns enough for the command in which he was now to be fj/ /L^Tciployed. There was but one other member of the Board, Major ' Fiasco by name, a discontented, broken-hearted, silent man, who had been sent to the General Committee Office some few years before because he was not wanted anywhere else. He was a man who had intended to do great things when he entered public life, and had possessed the talent and energy for things moderately great. He had also possessed to a certain extent the ear of those high in office ; but, in some way, matters had not gone well with him, and in rujining his course he had gone on the wrong side of the post. He was still in the prime of life, ami yet all men knew that Major Fiasco had nothing further to expect from the public or from the Government. Indeed, there were not wanting tho^e who said that Major Fiasco was already in receipt of a liberal / ^ncome, for which he gave no work in return ; that he merely filled a chair for four hours a day four or five days a week, signing his name to certain forms and documents, reading, or pretending to read, certain papers, but, in truth, doing no good, jyiajor Fiasco, on the other hand, considered himself to be a deeply injured individual, and he spent his life in brooding over his wrongs. He believed now in nothing and in hobody. He had begun public life striving to be honest, and he now regarded all around him as dis- honest. He had no satisfaction in any man other than that which he found when some event would show to him that this or that other compeer of his own had proved himself to be self- interested, false, or fraudulent. " Don't tell me, Butterwell," he ■k VOL. I. Z ^S THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. would say — for with Mr. Butterwell he maintaiiied some se^ni- official iutimacy, and he would take that gentleman by the button- hole, holding him close. " Don't tell me. I know what men are. I've seen the world. I've been looking at things with my eyes open. I knew what he was doing." And then he would tell of the sly deed of some oflficial known well to them both, not denounc- ing it by any means, but affecting to take it for granted that the man in question was a rogue. Butterwell would shrug his shouldei-s, and laugh gently, and say that, upon his word, he didn't think the world so bad as Fiasco made it out to be. Nor did he ; for Butterwell believed in many things. He be- lieved in Lis Putney villa on this earth, and he believed also that he might achieve some sort of Putney villa in the world beyond without undergoing present martyrdom. His Putney villa first, with all its attendant comforts, and then his duty to the public afterwards. It was thus that Mr Butterwell regulated his conduct ; and as he was solicitous that the villa should be as comfortable a home to his wife as to himself, and that it should be specially com- fortable to his friends, I do not think that we need quarrel with his creed. Mr. Optimist believed in everything, but especially he believed in the Prime Minister, in the Daily Jupiter, in the General Com- mittee Office, and in himself. He had long thought that every- thing was nearly right ; but now that he himself was chairman at the General Committee Office, he was quite sure that everything must be right. In Sii- Eaffle Buffle, indeed, he had never believed ; and now it was, perhaps, the greatest joy of his life that he should never again be called upon to hear the tones of that terrible knight's hated voice. Seeing who were the components of the new Board, it may be presumed that Crosbie would look forward to enjoying a not un- infiuential position in his office. There were, indeed, some among the clerks who did not hesitate to say that the new secretary would have it pretty nearly all his own way. As for •* Old Opt," there would \y% they s^id, no difficulty about him. Only tell hina THE BOARD, 539 that such and such a decision was his own, and he would be suro to believe the teller. Butterwell was not fond of work, and had l)een accustomed to lean upon Crosbie for many years. As for Fiasco, he would be cynical in words, but wholly indifferent in deed. If the whole* office were made to go to the mischief, Fiasco, in his own grim way, would enjoy the confusion. ** Wish you joy, Crosbie," suid Sir liAffle, standing up on the dj rug, waiting for the new ^«cl•etary to go up to him and shake hands. But Sir Raffle was going, and the new secretary did not indulge him. ^' Thank ye. Sir Baffle," said Crosbie, without going near the rug. *' Mr. Crosbie, I congratulate you most sincerely," said Mr. Optimist ^ Your promotion has been the result altogether of your own merit You have been selected for tlie higli office which you are now called upon to fill solely because it has been thought that you are the most fit man to perform the onerous duties attached to it. Hum — h-m—^ha. x\8 regards my share in the irecommeudation which we found ourselves bound to submit to the Treasury, I must say that I never felt less «l)esitation in my life, and I believe I may declare as much as regards the other members of the Board." And Mr. Optimist looked around him for approving words. He had come forward from his. standing ground behind his chair to welcome Crosbie, and had shaken his hand cordially. Fiasco also had risen from his seat, and had assured Crosbie in a whisper that he had feathered his nest uncommon well. Then he had sat down again. '' Indeed you may, as far as I am concerned," said Butter- well. *'I told the Chancellor of the Exchequer," said Sir Raffle, speaking very loud and with much authority, ^' that unless he had some first-rate man to send from elsewhere I could name a iittiug candidate. ^ Sir Baffle,' he said, ' I mean to keep it in the office, and therefore shall be glad of your opinion.' 'In that case, Mr. ^Chancellor/ said I, * Mr. Crosbie must be the man/ * Mr. Crpsbje 2 2 340 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. shaU be the mau/ said the Chancellor. And Mr. Crosbie is the man." " Your friend Sark spoke to Lord Brock about it," said Fiasco. Now the Earl of Sark was a young nobleman of much influence at the present moment, and Lord Brock was the Prime Minister. " You should thank Lord Sark." *' Had as much to do with it as if my footman had spoken/' said Sir Raffle. " I am very much obliged to the Board for their good opinion," said Crosbie, gravely. " I am obliged to Lord Sark as well, — and also to your footman, Sir Raffle, if, as you seem to say, he has interested himself in my favour." "I didn't say anything of the kind," said Sir Raffle. "I thought it right to make you understand that it was my opinion, given, of course, officially, which prevailed with the Chancellor of the Exchequer. Well, gentlemen, as I shall be wanted in the city, I will say good morning to you. Is my carriage ready, Boggs 1" Upon which the attendant messenger opened the door, and the great Sir Raffle Buffle took his final departure from the scene of his former labours. " As to the duties of your new office " — and Mr. Optimist con- tinued his speech, taking no other notice of the departure of his enemy than what was indicated by an increased brightness of his eye and a more satisfactory tone of voice — " you will find yourself quite familiar with them." " Indeed he will,** said Butterwell. " And I am quite sure thai you will perform them with equal credit to yourself, satisfaction to the department, and advantage to the public. We shall always be glad to have your opinion on any subject of importance that may come before us ; and as regards the internal discipline of the office, we feel that we may leave it safely in your hands. In any matter of importance you will, of course, consult us, and I feel very confident that we shall go on together with great comfort and with mutual confidence." Then Mr. Optimist looked at his brother commissioners, sat down THE BOARD, 341 in his arm-chair, and taking in his hands some papers before him, began the routine business of the day. It was nearly five o'clock when, on this special occasion, the secretary returned from the board-room tp his own office. Not for a moment had the weight been off his shoulders while Sir Raffle had been bragging or Mr. Optimist making his speech. He had been thinking, not of them, but of Lily Dale; and though they bad not discovered his thoughts, they had perceived that he was hardly like himself. ^ I never saw a man so little elated by good fortune in my life," said Mr. Optimist. '' Ahy he's got something on his mind/' said ButterwelL **• He's going to be manried, I believe." ** If that's the case, it's no wonder he shouldu't be elated," said Major Fiasco, who was himself a bachelor. When in his own room again, Crosbie at once seized on a sheet of note-paper, as though by hurrying himself on with it he could get that letter to Allington written. But though the paper was before him, and the pen in his hand, the letter did not, would not, get itself written. With what words was he to b^n it % To whom should it be written % How was he to declare himself the villain which he had made himself % The letters from His office were taken away every night shortly after six, and at six o'clock he had not written a word. '^ I will do it at home to-night," he said to himseli^ and then, tearing off a scrap of paper, he scratched those few lines which Lily received, and which she had declined to communicate to her mother or sister. Crosbie, as he wrote them, conceived that they would in some way prepare the poor girl for the coming blow, — that they would, at any rate, make her know that all was not right; but in so supposing he had not counted on the constancy of her natiu^, nor had he thought of the promise which she had given him that nothing should make her doubt him. He wrote the scrap, and then taking his hat walked off through the gloom of the November evening up Charing Cross and St. Martinis Lane, towards the Seven Dials and Bloomsbury, 342 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLTNGTON. into reg'ionif of the town with which he had no business, and which he never frequented. He hardly knew where he went or where- fore. How was he to escape from the weight of the burden which was now crushing him ? It seemed to him as though he would change his position with thankfulness for that of the junior clerk in his office, if only that junior clerk had upon his mind no such betrayal of trust as that of which he was guilty. At half- past seven he found himself at Sebright's, and there be dined. A man will dine, even though bis heart be breaking. Then he got into a cab^ and had himself taken home to Mount Street. During his walk he had sworn to himself that he would not go to bed that night till the letter was written and posted. It was twelve before the first words were marked on the paper, and yet he kept his oath. Between two and three, in the cold moonlight, he crawled out and deposited his letter in the nearest post-office. CHAPTER XXIX. JOHN EAMBS RETURNS TO BURTON CRBSCENT. John Eames and Crosbie returned to town on the same day. It will be remembered how Eames had assisted Lord De Guest in the matter of the bull, and how great had been the earFs gratitude on the occasion. The memory of this, and the strong encouragement which he received from his mother and sister for having made such a friend by his gallantry, lent some slight satis- faction to his last hours at home. But his two misfortunes were too serious to allow of anything like real happiness. He was leaving Lily behind him, engaged to be married to a man whom he hated, and he was returning to Burton Cresent, where he would hav« to face Amelia Roper, — Amelia either in her rage or in her love. The prospect of Amelia in her rage was very terrible to him ; but his greatest fear was of Amelia in her love. He had in his letter declined matrimony ; but what if she talked down all his objections, and carried him off to church in spite of himself ! When he reached London and got into a cab with his port- manteau, he could hardly fetch up courage to bid the man drive him to Burton Crescent. " •! might as well go to an hotel for the night," he said to himself, *' and then I can learn how things are going on from Cradell at the office." Nevertheless, he did give the direction to Burton Crescent, and when it was once given felt ashamed to change it. But, as he was driven up to the well-known door, his heart was so low within him that he might almost be said to have lost it. When the cabman demanded whether he should knock, he could not answer ; and when the maid-servant at the door greeted him, he almost ran away. 344 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. " Who's at home f " said he, asking the question in a very low voice. ** There^s missus,'* said the girl, " and Miss Spruce, and Mrs. Lupex. He's away somewhere, in his tantrums again ; and there's Mr. " " Is Miss Roper here V* he said, still whispering. *' Oh, yes ! Miss Mealyer's here," said the girl, speaking in a cruelly loud voice. ^^She was in the dining-room just now, putting out the table. Miss Mealyer ! " And the girl, as she called out the name, opened the dining-room door. Johnny Eames felt that his knees were too weak to support him. But Miss Mealyer was not in the dining-room. She had per- ceived the advancing cab of her sworn adorer, and had thought it expedient to retreat from her domestic duties^ and fortify herself among her brushes and ribbons. Had it been possible that she should know how very weak and cowardly was the enemy against whom she was called upon to put herself in action, she might pro- bably have fought her battle somewhat differently, and have achieved a speedy victory, at the cost of an energetic shot or two. But she did not know. She thought it probable that she might obtain power over him and manage him ; but it did not occur to her that his legs were so weak beneath him that she might almost blow him over with a breath. None but the worst and most heartless of women know the extent of their own power over men; — as none but the worst and most heartless of men know the extent of their power over women. Amelia Roper was not a good specimen of the female sex, but there were worse women than her. '* She aint't there, Mr. Eames ; but you'll see her in the drawen- room," said the girl. *^ And it's shell be glad to see you back again, Mr. Eames." But he scrupulously passed the door of the upstairs sitting-room, not even looking within it, and contrived to get himself into his own chamber without having encountered anybody. " Here's yer 'ot water, Mr. Eames," said the girl ■" Then a little sob came, and the words were stopped. The words were stopped, but she was again upon his shoulder. What was he to do 1 In truth, his only wish was to escape, and yet his arm, quite in opposition to his own desires found its way round her waist. In such a combat a woman has so many points in her favour ! " Oh, Johnny," she said again, as soon as she felt the pressure of his arm. " Gracious^ wliat a beautiful watch you've got," and she took the trinket out of his pocket " Did you buy that 1 " " No ; it was given to me." " John Eames, did L. D. give it you 1 " BAMES RETURNS TO BURTON CRESCENT. 353 . " No, no, no," he shouted, stamping on the floor as he spoke. *^ Oh, I beg your pardon," said Amelia, q^uelled for the moment hj his energy. " Perhaps it was your mother." '' No ; it was a man. Never mind about the watch now." " I wouldn't mind anything, Johnny, if you would tell me 'that you loved me again. Perhaps I oughtn't to ask you, and it isn't becoming in a lady ; but how can I help it, when you know you've got my heart. Come upstairs and have tea with us now, won't you ? " What was he to do 1 He said that he would go up and have tea ; and as he led her to the door he put down his face and kissed her. Oh, Johnny Eames ! But then a woman in such a contest has so many points in her favour. Vte addressed to Lily. " Give her the enclosed," Crosbie had said in his letter, "i^ you do not now think it wrong to do so. I have left it open, that you may read it." Mrs. Dale, however, had not yet read it, and she now con- .cealed it bene$|,th her handkerchief. I will not repeat at length Crosbie*s letter to Mrs. Dale. It covered four sides of letter paper, and wajB suph. a letter that any man who wrote it must have felt himself to be a rascal. We saw that he had difficulty in writing it, but the miracle was, that any man could have fouud it possible to write it. " I know you wDl curse me," said he ; " and I deserve to be cursed. I know that I shall be punished for this, and I must bear my punishment. My worst punishment will be this, — that I never more shall hold up my head again." And then, again, he said: — " My only excuse is my conviction that I should never make her happy. She has been brought up as an angel, .with pure thoughts, with holy hopes, with belief in all that is good, and high, and noble. I have been surrounded through my whole life by things low, and mean, and ignoble. How could I live with her, or she with me ? I know now that this is so ; but my fault has been that I did not know it when I was there with her. I choose to tell you all," he continued, towards the end of the letter, "and therefore I let you know that I have engaged myself to marry another woman. Ah I I can foresee how bitter will be your feelings when you read this : but they wiU not be so bitter as mine while I write it. Yes ; I am already engaged to one who will suit me, and whom I may suit. You will not expect me to speak ill of her who is to be near and dear to me. But she is one with whom I may mate myself without an inward conviction that . I shall des roy all her happiness by doing so. Lilian," he said, *" shall always have my prayers ; and I tinist that she may soon forget, in the love of an honest man, that she ever knew one so dishonest as — Adolphus Crosbie," IS IT FROM HIMl l^^i Of what like must have been his countenance as he sat writitig such words of himself under the ghastly light of his own RnuJl, solitary lamp ? Had he written his letter at his office, in the day- time, with men coming in and out of his room, he could hardly have written of himself so plainly. He would have bethought himself that the written words might remain, and be read hereaftw by other eyes than those for which they were intended. But, as he, sat alone, during the small hours of the night, almost repenting of his sin with true repentance, he declared to hirbself that he did not care who might read them. They shouldi at imy rate, be true. Now they had been read by her to wjbom they hftd been addressed, and the daughter was standing before ^he mother to hear her doom. " Tell me all at once," Lily had said ; btit'^in what words was her mother to tell her I "Lily," she said, rising from her seat, ^aad leaving the two letters on the couch ; that addressed to. the^ daughter was hidden beneath a handkerchief, but that which she had read she left open and in sight. She took both the girl's hands in hers as she looked into her face, and spoke to her. /* Lily, my child ! " Then she burst into sobs, and was imable to tell her tale. *'Is it from him, mamma? May I read itt He cannot he " . " It is from Mr. Crosbie." ^' Is he ill, mamma ? Tell me at once. If he is ill I will go to him.' ^* No, my darling, he is not ill. Not yet ; — do not read it yet. Oh, Lily 1 It brings bad news ; very bad news." '^ Mamma, if he is not in danger, I can read it. Is it bad to him, or only badi to me ? " At this ' moment the servant knocked, and not waiting for an Answer, half opened the door. ^ " If you please, ma'am, Mr. Bernard is below, and wants to speak to you." ** Mr. Bernard ! ask Miss Bell to see him." " Miss Bell is with him, ma'am, but he says that he specially wants to speak to yoiL" SS^ THE SMALL BOUSE AT ALLINGTON. Mn. Dale felt that she oonld not leave Lily alone. She could not take the letter awaj, nor could she leave her child with the letter open. ^ I cannot see him,'' said Mrs. Dale. '^ Ask him what it ia. Tell him I cannot come down just at present And then the servant went, and Bernard left his message with BeU. '* Bernard/* she had said, ^ do you know of anything ? Is there anything wrong about Idr. Cirosbie ? '' Then, in a few words, he told her all, and understanding why his aunt had not come down to him, he went back to the Great House. Bell, almost stupefied by the tidings, seated herself at the table, unconsciously, leaning upon her elbows. " It will kill her," she said to herself. ^ My Lily, my darling Lily! It will surely kill her!'' But the mother was still with the daughter, and the story wa» i^till untold. ''Mamma,*' said Lily, ''whatever it is, I must, of course, be made to knCw it. I begin to guess the truth. It wiU pain you to jaay it. Shall I read the letter ? " Mrs. Dale was astonished at her calmness. It could not be that she had guessed the truth, or she would not stand like that, witb tearless eyes and unquelled courage before her. " You shall read it, but I ou^t to tell you first. Oh, my child^ my own one ! " Lily was now leaning against the bed, and her mother was standing over her, caressing her. " Then tell me," sidd she. " But I know what it is. He has thought it all over while away from me, and he finds that it must not be as we have supposed. Before he went I offered to releeus^ him, and now he knows that he had better accept my offer. Is it so, mamma % '* In answer to this Mrs. Dale did not speak, but Lily understood from, her signs that it was so^ "He might have written it to me, myself," said Uly, very proudly. " Mamma^ we wiU go down to breakfast. He has sent nothing to me, then 1 ** y IS IT FROM fflMf 359 *' There is a note. He bids me read it, but I have not opened it It is here." " Give it me," said Lily, almost sternly. " Let me have his last words to me ; " and she took the note from her mother's hands. "Lily," said the note, "your mother will have told you alL Before you read these few words you will know that you have trusted one who was quite untrustworthy. I know that you will hate me. — I oaonot even ask you to forgive me. You will let me pray that you may yet be happy. — A. C." She read these few words, still leaning against the bed. Then she got up, and walking to a chair, seated herself | with her back to her mother. Mrs. Dale moving silently after her stood over the back of the chair, not daring to speak to her. So she sat for some five minutes, with her eyes fixed upon the open window, and with Crosbie's note in her hand. " I will not hate him, and I do forgive him," she said at last, struggling to command her voice, and hardly showing that she could not altogether succeed in her attempt. " I may not write to him again, but you shall write and tell him so. Now we will go down to breakfast." And so saying, she got up from her chair. Mrs. Dale almost feared to speak to her, her composure was so complete, and her manner so stern and fised^. She hardly knew how to oflFer pity and sympathy, seeing that pity seemed to be so little necessary, and that even sympathy was not demanded. And she could not understand all that Lily had said. What had she meant by the offer to release him ? Had there, then, been some quarrel between them before he went ? Crosbie had made no such allusion in his letter. But Mrs. Dale did not dare to ask any questions. " You frighten me, Lily," she said. " Your very calmness frightens me." "Dear mammal" and the poor girl absolutely smiled as she embraced her mother. " You need not be frightened by my calm- ness. I know the truth well. I have been very unfortunate j — j6o THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. ^ry. The brightest hopes of my life are all gone \ — and I shall Beyer again see him whom I love beyond all the world 1" Then at test she broke down, and wept in her mother's arms^ There was not a word of anger spoken then against him who had done all this. Mrs. Dale felt that she did not dare to speak in anger against him, and words of auger were not likely to come from poor Lily. She,, indeed, hitherto did not know the whole of his offence, for she had not read his letter. " Give it me, mamma,"^ she said at last. " It has to be done sooner or later." " Not now, Lily. I have told yon all, — all that you need know at present.'* " Yes ; now, mamma,'' and £^in that sweet silvery voice became stern. " I will read it now, and there shall be an end.*' Where- upon Mrs. Dale gave her the letter and she rqad \% in silence. Her mother, though standing somewhat behind her,, watched her narrowly as she did so. She was now lying over upon the bed, a*id the letter was on the pillow, as she propped herself upon her arm Her tears were running, and ever and again she would stop to dry her eyes. Her sobs too were very audible, but she went on steadily with her reading till she came to the line on which Crosbie told that he had already engaged himself to another woman. Then her mother could see that she paused suddenly, and that a shudder, slightly convulsed all her limbs. " He has been veiy quick," she said, almost in a whisper > axfed then she finished the letter. " Tell him, mamma," she said, ** that I do forgive him, and I will not hate him. You will tell him that, — from me ; will you not % " And then she raised herself from the bed. Mrs. Dale would give her no such assurance. In her present mood her feelings against Crosbie were of a nature which she her- self hardly could understand or analyse. She felt that if he were present she could almost fly at him as would a tigress. She had never hated before as she now hated this man. He was to her a murderer, and worse than a murderer. He had made his way like /S IT FROM HIM1 361 a wolf into her little fold, and torn her ewe-lamb and left her maimed and mutilated for life. How could a mother forgive such an offence as that, or consent to be the medium through which foi^veness should be expressed? *' You mnst^ mamma ; or, if jou do not, I shall do so. Re- member that I love him. Tou know what it is to have loved one single man. He has made me yeiy unhappy ; I hardly know yet how imhappy. But I have loved him and do love him. I believe, in my heart, that he still loves me. Where this has been, there must not be hatred and unforgiveness." ** I will pray that I may become able to forgive him," said Mrs. Dale. " But you must write to him those words. Indeed you must, mamma I ' She; bids me tell you that she has forgiven you, and will not hate you.' Promise me that ! '' *' I can make no promise now, Lily. I, will think about it, and endeavour to do my duty.*' Lily was now seated, and was holding the skirt of her mother's dress. " Mamma,'* she said, looking up into her mother's face, " you must be very good to me now ; and I must be very good to you. We shall be always together now. I must be your friend and counsellor ; and be everything to you, more than ever. T must fall in love with you now ; " and she smiled again, and the tears were almost dry upon her cheeks. At last they went down to the breakfast room, from which Bell had not moved. Mrs. Dale entered the room first, and Lily fol- lowed, hiding herself for a moment behind her mother. Th^ slie bame forward boldly, and taj^ing. Bell in her arms, clasped her close ' to her bosom. " BeH? she said, " he has. gone." •* Lily ! Lily ! Lily !" said Bell, weeping. " He has gone ! We shall talk it over in a few days, and shall know how to do so without losing ourselves, in misery. To-day we 362 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON, will say no more about it. I am bo thirsty, Bell ; do giye me my tea ; '' and she sat herself down at the breakfast-table. Lily's tea was given to her, and she drank it Beyond that I cannot say that any of them partook with much heartiness of the meaL They sat there, as they would have sat if no terrible thunderbolt had fallen among them, and no word further was spoken about Crosbie and his conduct. Immediately after break- fast they went into the other room, and Lily, as was her wont, sat herself immediately down to her drawing. Her mother looked at her with wistful eyes, longing to bid her spare herself^' but she shrank from interfering with her. For a quarter of an hour Lily sat over her board, with her brush or pencil in her hand, and then she rose up and put it away. *' It is no good pretending,'' she said. *' I am only spoiling the things ; but I will be better to-morrow. Ill go away and lie down by myself, mamma." And so she went. Soon after this Mrs. Dale took her bonnet and went up to the Great House, having received her brother-in-law's message from Bell. " I know what he has to tell me," she said ; '* but I might as well ga It will be necessary that we should speak to each other about it." So she walked across the lawn, and up into the hall of the Great House. '' Is my brother in the book-room ?" she said to one of the maids; and then knocking at the door, went in unannounced. The squire rose from his arm-chair, and came forward to meet her. " Mary," he said, " I believe you know it all." " Yes," she said. " You can read that," and she handed him Orosbie's letter. '' How was one to knbw that any man could be so wicked as that % " ^' And she has heard it 1 " asked the squire. " Is she able to bear it ] " " Wonderfully ! She has amazed me by her strength. It frightens me; for I know that a relapse must come. Bhe has IS IT FROM HIMf 363 never sunk for a moment beneath it. For myself, I feel as though it were her strength that enables me to bear my share of it." And then she described to the squire all that had taken place that morning. " Poor child I*' said the squire. " Poor child ! What can we do for her Y Would it be good for her to go away for a time ? She is a sweet, good, lovely girl, and has deserved better than that. Sorrow and disappointment come to us all ; but they are doubly heavy when they come so early." Mrs. Dale was almost surprised at the amount of sympathy which he showed. ** And what is to be his punishment 7" she asked. *' The scorn which men and women will feel for him ; those, at least, whose esteem or scorn are matters of concern to any one. I know no other pimishment. Tou would not have Lily's name brought before a tribunal of law 1 " « Certainly not that." " And I will not have Bernard calling him out. Indeed, it would be for nothing ; for in these days a man is not expected to fight duels." " You cannot think that I would wish that." '' What punishment is there, then f I know of none. There are evils which a man may do, and no one can punish him. I know of nothing. I went up to London after him, but he con- tinued to crawl out of my way. What can you do to a rat but keep clear of him 1 " ^ Mrs. Dale had felt in her heart that it would be well if Crosbie could be beaten till all his bones were sore. I hardly know whether such should have been a woman's thought, but it was hers. She had no wish that he should be made to fight a duel. In that there would have been much that was wicked, and in her estimation nothing that was just. But she felt that if Bernard would thrash the coward for his cowardice she would love her nephew better than ever she had loved him. Bernard also had considered it probable that he might be expected to horsewhip the 364 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. man who had jilted his cousin^ and, as regarded the absolute bodily risk, he would not have felt any insuperable objection to undertake the task. But such a piece of work was disagreeable to him in many ways. He hated the idea of a row at his dub. He was most desirous that his cousin's name should not be made public. He wished to avoid anything that might be impolitic A wicked thing had been done, and he was quite ready to hate Crosbie as Crosbie ought to be hated ; but as regarded himself, it made him unhappy to think that the world might probably expect him to punish the man who had so lately been his friend. And then he did not know where to catch him, or how to thrash him yhen caught. He was very sorry for his cousin, and felt strongly that Crosbie should not be allowed to escape. But what was he to do ? " Would she like to go anywhere % " said the squire again, anxious, if he could, to afford solace by some act of generosity. At this moment he would have settled a hundred a year for life i^pon his niece if by ^ doing he co\ild have done her any good. " She will be better at home," said Mrs. Dale. " Poor thing. For a while she will wish to avoid going out." ,. " I suppose so ; " and then there was a pause. " TU tell you \fhat, Mary ; I don't understand it. On my liouour I don't under- stand it. It is to me as wonderful as though I had caught the « man picking my pence out of my pocket. I don't think any man. in the position of a gentleman would have done such a thing, whenr I was young. I don't think any man would have dared to do it. But now it seems that a man may act in that way and no harut come to him. He had a friend in London who came to me and talked about it as though H were some ordinaiy, everyday trans^ action of life. Yes ; you may come in, Bernard. The poor child knows it all now." Bernard offered to his aunt what of solace and sympathy he had to offer, and made some sort of half-expressed apology for having introduced this wolf iuto their flock. '' We always thought very much of him at his dub/' said Bernard. ^ IS IT FROM HIM^ 365 "I dou*t know muoh about yqur London clube now-a-days," said his uucle, *' nor do I wish to do so if the society of that ^laai can be endured after what ha haa now. done.*' "I don't suppose half-ardozen men will ever know anythuig about it," said Bertifu'd. " Umph ! " ejaculated the squire. He could not say that he wished Crosbie's villany to b^ widely discussed/ seeing that Lily's name was so closely connected with it. But yet he could not sup- l>ort the idea that Crosbie should not be punished by the frown of the world at large. ' It seemed to him that from this time forward any man speaking to Crosbie should be held to have disgraced himself by so doing. *' Uive her my best love," he said, as Mrs. Dale got up to take her leave ; " my very best love. If her old uncle can do any- thing for her she has only to let me know. She met the man in my house, and I feel that I owe her much. Bid her come and see me. It will be better for her than, moping at home. And Mary" — this he said to her, whispering into her ear — ''think ©f what I said to you about Bell." Mrs. Dale, as she walked back to her own house, acknowledged toh erself that her brother-in-law's manner was different to her from anything that she had hitherto known of him. During the whole of that day Crosbie's name was not mentioned at the Small House. Neither of the girl's stirred out, and BeiJl spent the greater part of the afternoon sitting, with her arm round her sister's waist, upon the sofa. Each of them had a book ; but though there was little spoken, there was as little read. Who can describe the thoughts that were passing through Lily's mind as she re- membered the hours which she had passed with Crosbie, of hiji warm assurances of love, of his accepted caresses, of her uncontrolled and acknowledged joy in his afifection % It had all been holy to her then ; and now those things which were then sacred had been made almost disgraceful by his fault. And yet as she thought of this she declared to herself over and over again that she would forgive 366 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. him ; — nay, that she had forgiven him. '' And he shall know it, too/* she said, speaking almost out loud. " Lily, dear Lily," said Bell, " turn your thoughts away from it for a while, if you can." *' They won't go away,'* said Lily. And that was all that was said between them on the subject. Everybody would know it ! I doubt whether that must not be one of the bitterest drops in the cup which a girl in such circum- stances is made to drain. Lily perceived early in the day that the parlour-maid well knew that she had been jilted. The girPs manner was intended to convey sympathy ; but it did convey pity ; and Lily for a moment felt angry. But she remembered that it must be so, and smiled upon the girl, and spoke kindly to her. What mattered it ? All the world would know it in a day or two. On the following day she went up, by her mother's advice, to see her uncle. " My child," said he, ** I am sorry for you. My heart bleeds for you." " Uncle," she said, " do not mind it Only do this for me, — do not talk about it, — I mean to me." " No, no ; I will not. That there should ever have been in my house so great a rascal " " Uncle ! uncle 1 I will not have that ! I will not listen to a word against him from any human being, — not a word ! Re- member that 1 " And her eyes flashed as she spoke. He did not answer her, but took her hand and pressed it, and then she left him. '* The Dales were ever constant ! " he said to himself, as he walked up and down the terrace before his house. " Ever constant ! " THE END. aSADBUBT, AOKKW, ft CX>.» PEHmEItB, WHITBrBL4B& THB SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON BT ANTHONY TROLLOPE. IN TWO VOLUMES. VOL II. LONDON CHAPMAN & HALL, 193, PICCAr>ILLY 1879 [All Rights Be^ervecU] 9 LOVDOK ; /BIUDBURT, ▲OHIW, ft CO., PAIKTKBS, WHirSTBIlBS. CONTENTS. ^_ OHAPTEB I. IBM WOUHDXD FAWK 1 CHAPTEE II. pawkivs'b in jxbmtv stbkr 12 CHAPTEE III. "THl TDOB WILL OOMB** 23 V CHAPTEE IV. Tin OOUBAT 39 CHAPTEE V. ▼•A vicns •••.•••••••46 OHAPTEB VI. "sn, THB ooKQVxiairo hibo coMn" 60 CHAPTEE Vli. AN OLD KAH's CX)MPLADnP • • , • ^^ . . • 74 OHAPTEB Vra. SB. OBORB IB OAiiLB) ST » . ' 83 CHAPTEE IX. vk. aCatta is xnunm out . 96 vi CONTENTS. CHAPTEE X. PAOB PRBFASATIOIIB fOR THE WXDDIHO . 110 CHAPTEE XI. DOIOBTIC TBOITBLB 126 CHAPTEE XII. ULT's BKOaiDB 136 CHAPTEE Xin. vn, m! ,.,... 147 CHAPTEE XIV. TAUonniii^s DAT AT ALLnrsTOir . . .... 161 CHAPTEE XV. TAI.XNTINl'8 DAT W UOtlXai , . 171 CHAPTEE XVI. JOHN KAMIB AT BIB omOB 185 CHAPTEE XVII. THI KKW PBITATB SBOSKTABT ' . - 199 CHAPTEE XVIII. ♦ • « • 209 CHAPTEE XIX. ■ PBKPAtfcATHWB ^B OOINO . • • • . . . 222 OHAPTERXX, KBa. DALE IB TEASEJTJL fOB A GOOD THIKG 234 ♦ • CONTENTS. Tii CHAPTBB XXI. PAOB JOBM KAlOB DOIB fHINOS WHICH HS OITOHT KOT TO HATX OOMB . 243 CHAPTER XXII. TBI VIB8T VISIT TO TH> OtmiWICK BBISOK 269 CHAPTEE XXIIL LOQmTUB HOPKIKS , . . 271 CHAPTER XXIV. isi saaomt \uat to the ovasrwiCK bbiook 282 CHAPTER XXV. KOT Tax FIB riB tma, all 293 CHAPTER XXVI. 8H0WIMO HOW KB. OBOeBIB BBOAMB AGAIH A HAPPV MAN . . 311 CHAPTER XXVII. UUAN DALB VABQVIBHBS HBB MOTHBB 321 CHAPTER XXVIII. THB FATB OF TBB SMALL HOTTSB 332 CHAPTER XXIX. JOHV BAMB8 BBC0MB8 A MAK 343 CHAPTER XXX. CONCLCSION 358 V( THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLLNGTOX. CHAPTER I. THE WOUNDBD FAWN. Nearly two months passed away, and it was now Christmas time at AUington. It may be presumed that there was no inten- tion at either house that the mirth should be very loud. Such a wound as that received by Lily Dale was one from which recovery could not be quick, and it was felt by all the family that a weight was upon them which made gaiety impracticable. As for Lily herself it may be sail that she bare her misfortune with all a woman's "courage. For the first week she stood up as a tree that stands against the wind, which is soon to be shivered to pieces because it will not bend. During that week her mother and sister were frightened by her calmness and endurance. She would perform her daily task. She would go out through the village, 4 and appear at her place in church on the first Sunday. She would sit over her book of an evening, keeping back her tears ; and would chide her mother and sister when she found that they were regarding her with earnest anxiety. " Mamma, let it all be as though it had never been," she said. " Ah, dear ! if that were- but possible ! " " God forbid that it should be possible inwardly." Lily replied, ".but it is possible outwardly. I feel that you are more tender to me than you used to be, and that upsets me. If you would only VOL. II. B 2 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. scold me because I am idle, I should soon be better." But her mother could not speak to her as she perhaps might have spoken had no grief fallen upon her p ^t. She could not cease from those anxious tender glances which made Lily know that she was looked on as a fawn wounded almost to death. At the end of the first week she gave way. " T won't get up. Bell," she said one morning, almost petulantly. " I am ill ; — I had better lie here out of the way. Don't make a fuss about it. I'm stupid and foolish, and that makes me ilL" Thereupon Mrs. Dale and Bell were frightened, and looked into each other's blank faces, remembering stories of poor broken- hearted girls who had died because their loves had been unfor- tunate,— as small wax tapers whose lights are quenched if a breath of wind blows upon them too strongly. But then Lily was in truth no such slight taper as that. Nor was she the stem that must be broken because it will not bend. She bent herself to the blast during that week of illness, and then arose with her form still straight and graceful, and with her bright light unquenched. After that she would talk more openly to her mother about her loss, — openly and with a true appreciation of the misfortune which had befallen her \ but with an assurance of strength which seemed to ridicule the idea of a broken heart, " I know that I can bear it," she said, '^ and that I can bear it without lasting uuhappiness. Of course I shall always love him, and must feel almost as you felt when you lost my father." In answer to this Mrs. Dale could say nothing. She could not speak out her thoughts about Crosbie, and explain to Lily that he was unworthy of her love. Love does not follow worth, and is not given to excellence ; — nor is it destroyed by ill-usage, nor killed by blows and mutilation. When Lily declared that she still loved the man who had so ill-used her, Mrs. Dale would be silent. Each perfectly understood.the other, but on that matter even they could not interchange their thoughts with freedom. "You must promise never to be tired of me, mamma," said Lily. THE WOUNDED FAWN. 3 ' ^ Mothers do not often get tired of their children, whatever the children may do of their mothers.'' '' I'm not so sure of that when the children turn out old maids. And I mean to have a will of my own, too, mamma ; and a way also, if it be possible. When BeU is married I shall consider it a partnership, and I shan't do what I'm told any longer." " Forewarned will be forearmed." " Exactly ; —and I don't want to take you by surprise. For a year or two longer, tiU Bell is gone, I mean to be dutiful ; but it would be very stupid for a person to be dutiful all their lives." ^ All of which Mrs. Dale understood thoroughly. It amounted to an assertion on Lily's part that she had loved once and could never love again ; that she had played her game, hoping, as other girls hope, that she might win the prize of a husband ; but that, having lost, she could never play the game again. It was that inward conviction on Lily's part which made her say such words to her mother. But Mrs. Dale would by no means allow herself to share this conviction. She declared to herself that time would cure Lily's wound, and that her child might yet be crowned by the bliss of a happy marriage. She would not in her heart consent tp that plan in accordance with which Lily's destiny in Jife was to be regarded as already fixed. She had never really liked Crosbie as . a suitor, and would herself have preferred John Eaines, with aH the faults of his hobbledehoyhood on his head. It might yet come to pass that John Eames' love might be made happy. But in the meantime Lily, as I have said, had become strong in her courage, and recommenced the work of living with no lacka- daisical self-assurance that because she had been made more un- happy than others, therefore she should allow herself to be more idle. Morning and night she prayed for him, and daily, almost hour by hour, she assured herself that it was stiU her duty to love him. It was hard, this duty of loving, without any power of ex- pressing such love. But still she would do her duty. " Tell me at once, mamma," she said one morning, " when you' B 2 A THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. l^^ai" that thp day in fixed for his marriage. Pray don't keep me in the dark." '^ It is to be in February," said Mrs. Dale. ^' But let me know the day. It must not be to me like ordinary days. But do not look unhapfjcjry mamma; I am not going to make a fool of myself I shan't steal ofif and appear in the church like a ghost." And then, having uttered her little joke, a sob came, and she hid her face on her>mother's bosom. In a moment she raised it again. ^' Believe me, mamma, that I am not un- happy," she said. After the expiration of that second week Mrs. Dale did write a letter to Crosbje : '' I SUPPOSE (she said) it is right that 1 should acknowledge the receipt of your letter^ I do not know that I have aught else to say to you. It would not become me as a woman to say what I think of your conduct, but I believe that your conscience will tell you the same things. If it do not, you must, indeed, be hardened. I have promised my child that I will send to you a message from her. She bids me tell you that she has forgiven you, and that she does not hate you. May God also forgive you, and may you recover his love. "Mary Dalb." " I beg that no rejoinder may be made to this letter, either to myself or to any of my family." The squire wrote no answer to the letter which he had received, nor did he take any steps towards the immediate punishment of Crosbie. Indeed he had declared that no such steps could be taken, explaining to his nephew that such a man could be served only as one serves a rat. '' I shall never see him," he said once again ; " if I did, I should not scruple to hit him on the head with my stick ; but I should think ill of myself to go after him with such an object." And yet it was a terrible sorrow to the old nian that the sooun- THE WOUNDED FAWN. i drel who had so injured him and his should escape scot-free. H^ had not forgiven Crosbie. No idea of forgiveness had ever crossed his mind. He would have hated himself had he thought it pos* sible that he could be induced to forgive such an injury. '' There is an amount of rascality in it, — of low meanness, which I do not understand/' he would say over and over again to his nephew. And then as he would walk alone on the terrace he would specu^ late within his own mind whether Bernard would take any steps towards avenging his cousin's injury. " He is right/* he would say to himself; " Bernard is quite right. But when I was young I coidd not have stood it. In those days a gentleman might have a fellow out who had treated him as he has treated us. A man was satisfied in feeling that he had done something. I suppose the world is differenj^ now-a-days,'* The world is diflTerent ; but the squire by no m^ns acknowledged in his heart that there had been any improvement. Bernard also was greatly troubled in his mind. He would have had no objection to fight a duel with Orosbie, had duels in these days been possible. But he believed them to be no longer pos- sible,— at any rate without ridicule. And if he could not fight the man, in what other way was he ta^puHiBh himi Was it not the fact that for such a fault the world afforded no punishment 1 Was it not in the power of a man like Crosbie to amuse himself for a week or two at the expense of a girl's happiness for life, and then to escape absolutely without any ill effects to himself] " I shall be barred out of my club lest I should meet him,'' Bernard said to^iimself, " but he will not be barred out." Moreover, there was a feeling within him that the matter would be one of triumph to Crosbie rather than otherwise. In having secured for himself the pleasure of his courtship with such a girl as Lily Dale, without encoimtering the penalty usually consequent upon such amuse- ment, he would be held by many as having merited much admira- tion. He had sinned against all the Dales, and yet the suffering arising from his sin was to fall upon the Dales exclusively. Such was Bernard's reasoning, as he speculated on. the whole affair, sadly 6 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. enough, — wishing to be avenged, bi^t not knowing where to look for vengeance. For myself I believe him to have been altogether wrong as to the light in which he supposed that Crosbie's falsehood would be regarded by Crosbie's friends. Men will still talk of such things lightly, professing that all is fair in love as it is in war, and speaking almost w:ith envy of the good fortunes of a practised deceiver. But I have never come across the man who thought in this way with reference to an individual case* Crosbie's own judg- ment as to the consequences to himself of what he had done was more correct than that formed by Bernard Dale. He had regarded the act as venial as long as it was still to do, — while it was still within his power to leave it imdone ; but from the moment of it9 accomplishment it had forced itself upon his own view in its proper light. He knew that he had been a scoundrel, and he knew that other men would so think of him. His friend Fowler Pratt, who had the reputation of looking at women simply as toys had 80 regarded him. Instead of boasting of what he had done, he was afraid of alluding to any matter connected with his mar- riage ^s a man is of talking of the articles which he has stolen. He had already felt that men at his club looked askance at him ; and, though he was no coward as regarded his own skin and bones^: he had an undefined fear lest some day he might encounter Ber/ /y nard Dale purposely armed with a stick. The squire and his nephew were wrong in supposing that Crosbie was unpunished. And as the winter came on he felt that he was closely watched by the noble family of De Courcy. Some of that noble family be had alrea^ learned to hate cordially. The Honourable John came up to town in November, and persecuted him vilely ; — ^in- sisted on having dinners given to him at Sebright's, of smoking throughout the whole afternoon in his future brother-in-law's rooms, and on borrowing his future brother-in-law's possessions ; till at last Crosbie determined that it would be wise to quarr^ with the Honourable John, — and he quarrelled with him accordingly, turning him out of his rooms, and telling him in so many words that he would have no more to do with him. THE WOUNDED FAWN, -r " You'll have to do it, as I did," Mortimer Gazebee had said to him; '' I didn't like it because offthe family, but Lady Amelia told me that it mast be so.'' Whereupon Crosbie took the advice of Mortimer Crazebee. But the hospitality of the Gazeboes was perhaps more distressing to him than even the importunities of the Honourable John. It seemed as though his future sister-in-law was determined not to leave him alone. Mortimer was sent to fetch him up for the Sunday afternoons, and he found that he was constrained to go to the villa in St. John's Wood, even in opposition to his own most strenuous wilL He could not quite analyze the circumstances of his own position, but he felt as though he were a cock with his spurs cut off, — ^as a dog with his teeth drawn. He found himself becoming humble and meek. He had to acknowledge to himself ^/rT'that he^Was afraid of Lady Amelia, and almost even afraid of Mortiner // Gazebee. He was aware that they, watched him, and knew all his goings out and comings in. Thej called him Adolphus, and made him tame. That coming evil day in February was dinned into his ears. Lady Amelia would go and look at furniture for him, and talked by the hour about bedding and sheets. '^ You had better get your kitchen things at Tomkins'. They're all good, and he'll give you ten per cent, off if you pay him ready-money, — which of course you will, you know 1 " Was it for this that he had sacrificed Lily Dale I — for this that he had allied himself with the noble house of De Courcy % Mortimer had been at him about the settlements from the very first moment of his return to London, and had already bound him up hand and foot His life was insured, and the policy was in Mortimers hands. His own little bit of money had befen already handed over to be tied up with Lady Alexandrina's little bit. It seemed to him that in all the arrangements made the intention Was that he should die off speedily, and that Lady Alexandrina should be provided with a decent little income, sufficient for St. John's Wood. Things were to be so settled that he could not eten spend the proceeds of his own money, or of hers. They wei^ 8 THE SMAIL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. to go, under the fostering band of Mortimer Gazebee, in paying insurances. If he would only die the day after his marrriage, there would really be a very nice sum of money for Alexandnna^ almost worthy of|the acceptance of an earl's daughter. Six months ago he would have consid^ed himself able to turn Mortimer Gazebee round his fing«»r on any subject that could be intro- duced between them. When they chanced to meet Gazebee had been quite humble to him, treating him almost as a superior being. He had looked down on Gazebee from a very great height. But now it seemed as though he were powerless in this man's hands. Bat perhaps the countess had become his greatest aversion. She was perpetually writing to him little notes in which she gaye him multitudes of commissions, sending him about as though be had been her servant. And she pestered him with advice which was eve^ worse than her commissions, telling him of the style of life in which Alexandrina would expect to live, and warning him very frequently that such an one as J^e could not expect to be admitted within the bosom of so noble a. family without paying very dearly for that inestimable privil^e. Her letters had become odious to him, and he would chuck them on one side, leaving them for the whole day unopened. He had already made up his mind that he • would quarrel with the countess also, very shortly after hi» marriage ; indeed, that he would separate himself from the whole family if it were possible. And yet he had entered into this' engagement mainly with the view of reaping those advantages- which would accrue to him from being allied to the De Courcys ! The squire and his nephew were wretched in thinking that this man was escaping without punishment, but they might have spared themselves that misery. It had been understood from the first that he was tov^end his Christmas at Courcy Castle. From this undertaking it was quite out of his power to enfranchise himself; but he resolved Hhat his visit should be as short as possible. Christmas Day unfortunately came on a Monday, and it was known to the De Courcy world that Saturday was almost a du^ wm9X thp General ComoaittQe OfiELge,! THE WOUNDED FAWN, 9 As to those three days there was no escape for him ; but he made Alexandriua understand that the three Commissioners were men of iron as to any extension of those three days. *' I must be absent again in February, of couTBe," he said, almort making his wail audible in the words he used, '* and therefore it is quite impossible that I should stay now. beyond the Monday." Had there been at- tractions for him at Courcy Castle I think he might hare arranged with Mr. Optimist for a week or ten days. "We shall be all alone," the countess wrote to him, '' and I hope you will haye an oppor- tunity of learning more of our ways than you have ever really been able to do as yet." This was bitter as gall to him. But in this world all valuable commodities have their price \ and when men such as Crosbie aspire to obtain for themselves an alliance with noble families, they must pay the market price for the article which they purchase. " You'll all come up and dine with us on Monday," the squire said to Mrs. Dale^ about the middle of the previous week. " Well, I think not," said Mrs. Dale ; " we are better, perhaps, as we are." At this moment th^ squire and his sister-in-law were on much more friendly terms than had been usual with them, and he took her reply in good part, understanding her feeUng. Therefore, he pressed his request, and succeeded. .>"I think you're WTOilg," he said; "I don't suppose that we shall have a very merry Christmas. You and the girls will hardly have that whether you eat your pudding here or at the Great House. But it will be better for us all to make the attempt. It's the right thing to do. That's the way I look at it." " I'll ask LUy," said Mrs. Dale. " Do, do. Give her my love, and tell her from me that, in spite of all that has come and gone, Christ mas Day should eftill be to her a day of rejoicing. We'll dine about three, so that the servants can have the afternoon." " Of course we'll go, said Lily ; " why not 1 We always do. And we'jyi bav^i bliftd-na^n's-bufl' with all the Bpyces, as we hacl lo THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. last year, if uncle will ask them up." But the Boyces were not asked up for that occasion. But Lilj, though she put on it aU so brave a face, had much to suffer, and did in truth suffer greatly. If you, my reader, ever chanced to slip into the gutter on a wet day, did you not find that the sympathy of the bystanders was by far the severest part of your misfortune? Did you not declare to yourself that all might yet be well, if the people would only walk on and not look at you \ And yet you cannot blame those who stood and pitied you ; or, perhaps, essayed to rub you down, and assist you in the recovery of your bedaubed hat. You, yourself, if you see a man fall, cannot walk by as though nothing uncommon had happened to him. It was so with Lily. The people of AUington could not regard her with their ordinary eyes. They would look at her tenderly, knowing that she was a wounded fawn, and thus they aggravated the soreness of her wound. Old Mrs. Hearn condoled with her, telling her that very likely she would be better off as she was. Lily would not lie about it in any way. "Mrs. Hearn," she said, " the subject is painful to me." Mrs. Hearn said no more about it, but on every meeting between them she looked the things she did not say. " Miss Lily ! " said Hopkins, one day, " Miss Lily ! *' — ^and as he looked up into her face a tear had almost formed itself in his old eye — " I knew what he was from the first. Oh, dear ! oh, dear ! if I could have had him killed ! " " Hopkins, how dare you ] " said Lily. " If you speak to me again in such a way, I will tell my uncle." She turned away from him ; but immediately turned back again, and put out her little hand to him. " I beg your pardon," she said. " I know how kind you are, and I love you for it." And then she went away. " Fll go after him yet, and break the dirty neck of him," said Hopkins to himself, as he walked down the path. Shortly before Christmas Day she called with her sister at the vicarage. Bell, in the course of the visit, left the room with one of the Boyce girls, to look at the last chrysanthemums of the year. Then Mrs. Boyce took advantage of the occasion to make her litUe THE WOUNDED FAWN. ii speech. '' My dear Lily/' she said, '' you will think me cold if I do not say one word to you." " No, I shall not," said Lily, almost sharply, shrinking from the finger that threatened to touch her sore. '^ There are things which should never be talked about." " Well, well j perhaps so," said Mrs, Boyce. But for a minute or two she was unable to fall back upon any other topic, and sat looking at Lily with painful tenderness. I need hardly say what were Lily's sufferings under such a gaze ; but she bore it, acknow- ledging to herself in her misery that the fault did not lie with Mrs. Boyca How could Mrs. Boyce have looked at her otherwise than tenderly 1 It was settled, then, that Lily was to dine up at the Great House on Christmas Day, and thus show to the AUington world that she wa^ not to be regarded as a person shut out &om the world by the depth of her misfortune. That she was right there can, I think, be no doubt; but as she walked across the little bridge, with her mother and sister, after returning from church, she would haye given much to be able to have turned round, and have gone to bed Instead of to her uncle's dinner. CHAPTER II. PAWKINS'S IN JERMTN STREET. The show of fat beasts in London took place this year on the twentieth day of Deoember, and I have always understood that a certain bullock exhibited by Lord De Guest was decl&red by the metropolitan butchers to have realized all the possible excellences of breeding, feeding, and condition. No doubt the butchers of tikk next half-century will have learned much better, and the Guestwick beast, could it be embalmed and then produced, would excite only ridicule at the agricultural ignorance of the present age ; but Lord De Guest took the praise that was offered to him, and found himself in a seventh heaven of delight. He was never so happy as when surrounded by butchers, graziers, and salesmen who were able to appreciate the work of his life, and who regarded him as a model nobleman. *' Look at that fellow," he said to Eames, pointing to the prize bullock. Eames had joined his patron at the show after his office hours, looking on upon the living beef by gaslight. " Isn't he like his sire ? He was got by Lambkin, you know." *' Lambkin," said Johnny, who had not as yet been able to learn much about the Guestwick stock. "Yes, Lambkin. The bull that we had the trouble with. He has just got his sire's back and fore-quarters. Don't you see 1 " " I daresay," said Johnny, who looked very hard, but could not see. "It's very odd," exclaimed the earl, " but do you know, that i PA WKINS'S IN JERMYN STREET. 13 bull has been aa quiet since that day, — as quiet as — as anything. I think it must have been my pocket-handkerchief." ** I daresay it was," said Johnny ; — *•' or perhaps the flies." *' Flies ! " said the earl, angrily. *• Do you suppose he isn't used to flies % Come away. I ordered dinner at seven , and it's past six now. My brother Bell 1 There's promotion for Master Johnny ! ** ''Don't you remember, mamma," said Bell, "that he helped his lordship in his trouble with the bull ? " Lily, who remembered accurately all the passages of her last interview with John Eames, said nothing, but felt, in some sort^ sore at the idea that he should be so near her at such a time. In some unconscious way she had liked him for coming to her and saying all that he did say. She valued him more highly after that scene than she did before. But now, she would feel herself injured and hurt if he ever made his way into her presence under circumstances as they existed. " I shotdd not have thought that Lord De Guest was the man to show 80 much gratitude for so slight a favour," said the sqnire. ** However, I am going to dine there to-morrow/' " To meet young Eames % " said Mrs. Dale. " Yes, — especially to meet young Eames. At least, Fve been very specially asked to come, and I've been told that he is to be there." 2[ THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. "And is Bernard going T' ^' Indeed I'm not," said Bernard. '' I shall come oyer and dine with you." A half-formed idea flitted across Lilj'ti mind, teaching her to imagine for a moment that she might possibly be concerned in this arrangement. But the thought vanished as quickly as it came, merely leaving some soreness behind it. There are certain maladies which make the whole body sore. The patient, let hhn be touched on any point, — let him even be nearly touched, — will roar with agony as though his whole body had been bruised. So it is also with maladies of the mind. SofTows snch as that of poor Lily's leave the heart sore at every point, and compel th6 sufferer to be ever in fear (^ new wounds. Lily bore her eross bravely and well ; but not the less did it weigh heavily upon her at every turn because she had the strei^h to walk aa though she did not bear it. Nothing happened to her> or in her presence^ that did not iu some way connect itself with her ^misery. Her uncle was going over to meet John Eames at Lord De Guest's. Of course tlie men there' would talk about htff, and all such talking waa an injury to her. The afternoon of that day did not pass away brightly. As long as tiie servants were in the room the dinner went on much as » » • other dinners. At such times a certain amount of hypocrisy must always be practised in closely domestic circles. At mixed dinner- parties people can talk before Richard and WilHlun the same words that they would use if Richard and Willliam were not there. People so mixed do not talk together their inward home thoughts. But when close friends are together, a little eonsoious reticence is practised till the door is tiled. At sueh a oaeeting as this that conscious reticence was of service, and created an effort which was salutary. When the door was tiled, and when the servants were gone, how could they be merry together 1 By what mirth should the beards be made to wag on that Christmas Day? ''My father has been up in town^" said Bernard. "He was with Lord De Guest at PawkinsV* *'THE TIME WILL COMEr 25 " Why didn't yoii go and «ee bim ?" asked Mrs. Dale. ^ Well, I don't know. He did not seem to wish it. I shall go down to Torquay in February. I must be up in London, you know, in a fortnight, for good." Then they were all silent again for a few minutes. If Bernard could have owned the truth, he would have acknowledged that he had not gone up to London, because he did not yet know how to treat Crosbie when he shoidd meet him. His thoughts on this matter threw some sort of shadow across poor Lily's mind, making her feel that her* wound was again opened. " I want him to give up his profession altogether," said the squire, speaking firmly and slowly. ^^ It would be better, I think', for both of us that he should do so." " Would it be wise at his time of life/' said Mrs. Dale, " and when he has been doing so well ) " " I think it would be wise. If he were my son it would be thought better that he should live here upon the property, among the people who are to become his tenants, than remain up in London, or perhaps be sent to India. He has one profession as the beir of this place, and that, I think, should be enough." " I should have but an idle life of it down here," said Bernard. " That would be your own fault. But if you did as I would have you, your life would not be idle." In this he was alluding to Bernard's proposed marriage, but as to that nothing further could be said in Bell's presence. Bell understood it all, and sat quite silent, with demure countenance ; — perhaps even with some- thing of sternness in her face. " But the fact is," said Mrs. Dale, speaking in a low tone, and having well considered what she was about to say, *' that Bernard is not exactly the same as your son." " Why not % " said the squire. *' I have even offered to settle the property on him if he will leave the service." " You do not owe him so much as you would owe your son ; and, therefore, he does not owe you to much as he would owe his father;" a6 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. ^* If you mean that I cannot constrain him, I know that well enough. As regards money, I have offered to do for him quite as much as any father would feel called upon to do for an only son." *^ I hope you don't think me ungrateful," said Bernard. '' No, I do not ; but I think you unmindfuL I have nothing more to say about it, however ; — not about that. If you should marry " And then he stopped himself, feeling that he could not go on in Bell's presence. <' If he should marry," said Mrs. Dale, '^ it may well be that his wife would like a house of her own." '^ Wouldn't she have this house 1" said the squire^ angrily. ^' Isn't it big enough % I only want one room for myselfj and I'd give up that if it were necessary." ^' That's nonsense," said Mrs. Dale. '^ It isn't nonsense," said the squire. " You'll be squire of AUington for the next twenty years," said Mrs. Dale. *' And as long as you are the squire, you'll be master of this house ; at least, I hope so. I don't approve of monarohs abdicating in favour of young people." '^ I don't think uncle Christopher would look at all well like Charles the Fifth," said LUy. ''I would always keep a cell for you, my- darling, if I did," said the. squire, regarding her with that painful, special tenderness. Lily, who was sitting next to Mrs. Dale, put her hand out secretly and got hold of her mother*s, thereby indicating that she did not intend to occupy the ceU offered to her by her uncle ; or to look to him as the companion of her monastic seclusion. After that there was nothing more then said as to Bernard's prospects. '' Mrs. Heam is dining at the vicarage, I suppose % " asked the squire. *' Yes ; she went in aft^r church," said BeU. " I saw her go with Mrs. Boyce." ^' She told me she never would dine with them again after dark in winter," said Mrs. Dale. '' The last time she was tiiere^ the boy let the lamp blow out as she was going homOi and she lost her ''THE TIME WILL COME."* 27 way. The truth waB^ she was angry because Mr. Boyoe didn't go with her." ^* She's always angry," said the squire. '' She hardly speaks to me now. When she paid her rent the other day to Jolliffe, she said she hoped it would do me much good ; as though she thought me a brute for taking it." '' So she does," said Bema^. " She's very old, you know," said Bell, ** I'd give her the house for nothing, if I were you, uncle," said , Lily. " No, my dear ; if you were me you would not, I should be very wrong to do so. Why should Mrs. Hearn have her house for nothing, any more than her meat or her clothes 1 It would be much more reasonable were I to give her so much money into her hand yearly ; but it would be wrong in me to do so, seeing that she is not an object of charity ; — ^and it would be wrong in her to take it." *' And she wouldn't take it," said Mrs. Dale. ** I don't think she would. But if she did, Pm sure she would grumble because it wasn't double the amount. And if Mr. Boyce had gone home with her, she would have grumbled because he walked too fast." "She is very old," said Bell, again. " But, nevertheless, she ought to know better than to speak disparagingly of me to my servants. She should have more respect for herself." And the squire showed by the tone of his voice that he thought very much about it. It was very long and very dull that Christmas evening, making Bernard feel strongly that he would be very foolish to give up his profession, and tie himself down to a life at Allington. Women are more accustomed than men to long, dull, unemployed hours ; and, therefore^ Mrs. Dale and her daughters bore the tedium courageously. While he yawned, stretched himself, and went in and out of the room, they sat demiu-ely, listening as the squire laid down the law on small matters, and contradicting him occa- 28 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. sionally when the spirit of either of them prompted her special! 7 to do so. " Of coarse you know much better than I do," he would say. " Not at all," Mrs. Dale would answer. " I don't pretend to know anything about it. But " So the evening wore itself away ; and when the squire was left alone at half-past nine, he did not feel that the day had passed badly with him. That was his style of life, and he expected no more from it than he got. He did not look to find things very pleasant, and, if not happy, he was, at any rate, contented. " Only think of Johnny Eames being at Guestwick Manor ! ** %aid Bell, as they were going home. "I don't see why he shouldn't be there," said Lily. " I would rather it should be he than I, because Lady Julia is so grumpy." " But asking your uncle Christopher especially to meet him ! " said Mrs. Dala " There must be some reason for it." Then Lily felt the soreness come upon her again, and spoke no further upon the subject. We all know that there was a special reason, and that Lily's Soreness was not false in its mysterious forebodings. Eames, on the evening after his dinner at Pawkins's, had seen the earl, and explained to him that he could not leave town till the Saturday evening; but that he cjuM remain over the Tuesday. He must be at his office by twelve on Wednesday, and could manage to do that by an early train from Guestwick. " Very well, Johnny," said the eail, talking to his young friend with the bedroom candle in bis hand, as he was going up to dress. " Then I'll tell you what ; I've been thinking of it I'll ask Dale to come over to dinner on Tuesday ; and if he'll come, Fll explain the whole matter to him myself. He's a man of business, and he'll understand. If he won t come, why then you must go over to Allington, and find him, if you can, on the Tuesday morning ; or ril go to him myself, which will be better. You mustn't keep me now, as I am ever so much too late." Eames did not attempt to keep him, but went away feeling that the whole matter was being arranged for him in a very wonderful 'THE TIME WILL COMEr 29 \i^ay. And when he got to Allington be found that tbe squire had accepted the earl's invitation. I'hen iie declared to himself that there was no longer any possibility of retractation for him. Of course he did not wish to retract. The one great longing of his life was to call Lily Dale his own. But he felt afraid of the squire, — that the squire would despise him aud snub him, and that the earl would perceive that he had made a mistake when he saw how his client was scorned and snubbed. ' It was arranged that the earl was to take the squire into his own room for a few minutes before dinner, and Johnny felt that he would be hardly able te stand his ground in the drawing-room when the two old men should make their appearance together. He got on very well with Lady Julia, who gave herself no airs, and made herself very civil. Her brother had told her the whole story^ and she felt as anxious as he did to provide Lily with another husband in place of that horrible man Crosbie. " She has been very fortunate in her escape," she said to her brother ; " very fortunate." The earl agreed with this, saying that in his opinion his own favourite Johnny would make much the nicer lover of the two. But Lady Julia had her doubts as to Lily's acquiescence. " But, Theodore, he must not speak to Miss Lilian Dale herself about it yet a while." " Np," said the earl ; " not for a month or so." '*• He will have a better chance if he can remain silent for six ;^onths," said Lady Julia. ** Bless my soul ! somebody else will have picked her up before t^iat," said the earl. In answer to this Lady Julia merely shook her head. Johnny went over to his mother on Christmas Day after church, and was received by her and by his sister with great honour. And she gave him many injunctions as to his behaviour at the earl's table, even descending to small details about his boots and linen. But Johnny had already begun to feel at the Manor that, after all, people are not so very diflferent in their ways of life as they are suj posed to be. Lady Julia's manners were certainly not 30 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLTNGTON. quite those of Mrs. Roper ; but she made the tea very much in the way in which it was made at Burton Crescent, and Eames found that he could eat his egg, at any rate on the second morn- ing, without any tremor in his hand, in spite of the coronet on the silver egg-cup. He did feel himself to be rather out of his place in the Manor pew on the Sunday, conceiving that all the congregation was looking at him ; but he got over this on Christ- mas Day, and sat quite comfortably in his soft corner during the sermon, almost going to sleep. And when he walked with the earl after church to the gate over which the noble peer had climbed in his agony, and inspected the hedge through which be had thrown himself, he was quite at home with his little jokes, bantering his august companion as to the mode of his somersault. But be it always remembered that there are two modes in which a young man may be free and easy with his elder and superior, — the mode pleasant and the mode offensive. Had it been in Johnny's nature to try the latter, the earl's back would soon have been up at once, and the play would have been over. But it was not in Johnny's nature to do so, and therefore it was that the earl liked him. At last came the hour of dinner on Tuesday, or at least the hour at which the squire had been asked to show himself at the Manor House. Eames, as by agreement with his patron, did not come down so as to show himself till after the interview. Lady Julia, who had been present at their discussions, had agreed to receive the sqidre ; and then a servant was to ask him to step into the earVs own room. It was pretty to see the way in which the three conspired together, planning and plotting with an eager- ness that was beautifully green and fresh. '' He can be as cross as an old stick when he likes it," said the earl, speaking of the squire ; '' and we must take care not to rub him the wrong way." '^ I shan't know what to say to him when I come down," said Johnny. ''THE TIME WILL COMEr 31 " Just ahake hands with him and don't saj anything/' said Lady Julia. *' 111 give him some port wine that ong^t to soften his heart,'' said the earl, *' and then well see how he is in the evening. " Eames heard the wheels of the squire's little open carriage and trembled. The squire, unconscious of all schemes, soon found himself with Lady Julia, and within two minutes of his entrance was walked o£f to the earl's private roouL '^ Certainly," he said, ''certainly;" and followed the man-seryant« The earl, as he entered, was standing in the middle of the room, and his round rosy face was a picture of good-humour. " I'm very glad you've come, Dale," said he. *• I've something I want to say to you." Mr. Dale, who neither in heart nor in manner was so light a man as the earl, took the proffered hand of his host, and bowed his head slightly, signifying that he was willing to listen to any- thing. " I think I told you," continued the earl, " that young John Eames is down here ; but he goes back to-morrow, as they can't spare him at his office. He's a very good fellow, — as far as I am able to judge, an uncommonly good joung man. I've taken a great fancy to him myself." In answer to this Mr. Dale did not say much. He sat down, and in some general terms expressed his good- will towards all the Eames family. ** As you know. Dale, I'm a very bad hand at talking, and there- fore I won't beat about the bush in what I've got to say at preten*^. Of course we've all heard of that scoundrel Crosbie, and the way he has. treated your niece Lilian." . '' He is a scoundrel, — an unmixed scoundrel. But the less we say about that the better. It is ill mentioning a girl's name in such a matter as that." '' But, my dear Dale, I must mention it at the present moment. Dear young child, I would do anything to comfort her I And I hope that something may be done to comfort her. Do you know 32 2 HE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. that that joimg man was in love with her long before Crosbie ever saw her ] " « What ;— John Eamea ! " '' Yei^, John Eames. And I wish heartily for his Kake that he had won her regard before she had met that rascal whom you had to stay down at your house." '' A man cannot help tltese things, De Guest/' said the squire. *' No, no, no ! There are such men about the world, and it is impossible to know them at a glance. He wsb my nephew's friend, and I am not going to say that my nephew was in fault But I wish, — I only say that I wish, — she had first known what are this young man's feelings towards her." " But she might not have thought of him as you do." " He is an uncommonly good looking young fellow ; straight made, broad in the chest, with a good, honest eye, and a young man's proper courage. He has never been taught to give himself airs like a dancing monkey ; but I think he's all the better for that." ^* But it's too late now, De Guest." ** No, noj that's just where it is. It mustn't be too late! That child is not to lose her whole life because a villain has played her false. Of course she'll suffer. Just at present it wouldn't do, I suppose, to talk to her about a new sweetheart. But, Dale, the time will come ; the time will come ; — the time always does come." ** It has never come to you and me," said the squire, with the slightest possible smile on his dry cheeks. The story of their lives had been so far the same \ each had loved, and each had been disappointed, and then each had remained single through life. " Yes, it has," said the earl, with no slight touch of feeling and even of romance in what he said. " We have retricked our beams in our own ways, and oiu* lives have not been desolate. But for her, — ^you and her mother will look forward to see her married some day." ''THE TIME WILL COME:' 33* "I have not thought about it" " But I want you to think about it, I want to interest you in this fellow's favour ; and in doing so, I mean to be very open with' you. I suppose you'll give her something 1 " " I don't know, Fm sure," said the squire, almost offended at an inquiry of such a nature. " Well, then, whether you do or not, 1*11 give him something," said the earl. " I shouldn't have ventured to meddle in the matter had I not intended to put myself in such a position with reference to him as would justify me in asking the question.* And the peer as he spoke drew himself up to bis full height. ** If such a match can be made, it shall not be a bad marriage for your niece in a pecuniary point of view. I shall have pleasure in giving to him ; but I shall have more pleasure if she cafa share what I give." "She ought to be very much obiigeA to you," said- the squire. " I think she would be if she knew young Eames. I hope the day may come when she will be so. I hope that you and I may see them happy together, and that you too may thaiik hio for having assisted in making them so. Shall we go in to Lady Julia now ] " The earl had felt that he had not quite succeeded ; that his offer had been accepted somewhat coldly, and had not much hope that further good could be done on that day, even with the help of his best port wine. " Half a moment," said the squire. ** There are matters as to which 1 never find myself able to speak quickly, and this certainly seems to be one of them. If you will allow me I will think over what you have said, and then see you again." ** Certainly, certainly." " But for your own part in the matter, for your great gpnerosity and kind heart, I beg to offer you my warmest thanks." Then the squire bowed low, and preceded the earl out of the room. Lord De Guest still felt that he had not succeeded. We may probably say, looking at the squire's character aiid peculiarities, VOL. II. n 34 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON, that no marked success was probable at the first opening-out of such a subject. He had said of himself that he was never able to speak quickly in matters of moment ; but he would more correctly have described his own character had he declared that he could not think of them quickly. As it was, the earl was disappointed ; but had he been able to read the squire's miud, his disappointment would have been less strong. Mr. Dale knew well enough that he was being treated well, and that the effort being made was intended with kindness to those belonging to him ; but it was not in hia nature to be demonstrative and quick at expressions of gratitude. So he entered the drawiug-room with a cold, placid face, leading Eames, and Lady Julia also, to suppose that no good had been done. " How do you do, sir ? " said Johnny, walking up to him in a wild sort of manner, — going through a premeditated lesson, but doing it without any presence of mind. "How do you do, Eames 1" said the squire, speaking with a very cold voice. And then there was nothing further said till the dinner was announced. " Dale, I know you drink port,'* said the earl when. Lady Julia left them. ** If you say you don't like that, I shall' say you know nothing about it." " Ah ! that's the '20," said the squire, tasting it. " 1 should rather think it is," said the earl. **I was lucky enough to get it early, and it hasn't been moved for thirty years. I like to give it to a man who knows it, as you do, at the first glance. Now there's my friend Johuny, there ; it's thrown away upon him." " No, my lord, it is n(;t. I think it's uncommonly nice," ** Uncommonly nice ! So is champagne, or ginger- beer, or lolli- pops,— for those who like them. Do you mean to tell md you can taste wine with half a pickled orange in your mouth ] " " It'll come to him soon enough," said the squire. " Twenty port won't come to him when he is as old as we are," said the earl, forgetting that by that time sixty port will be as ""THE TIME WILL COME:' 35 wonderful to the then living seniors of the age as was his own pet vintage to him. The good wine did in some sort soften the squire ; but, as a matter of course, nothing further was said /is to the new matri- monial scheme. The earl did observe, however, that Mr. Dale was civil, and even kind, to his own young friend, asking a ques- tion here and there as to his life in London, and saying something about the work at the Income-tax Office. " It is hard work," said Eames. " If you're under the line, they make a great row about it, send for you, and look at you as though you'd been robbing the bank ; but tbey think nothing of keeping you till five." " But how long do you have for lunch and reading the papers ? " said the earl. " Not ten minutes. We take a paper among twenty of us for half the day. That's exactly nine minutes to each ; and as for lunch, we only have a biscuit dipped in ink." *' Dipped in ink 1 " said the squire. "It comes to that, for you have to be writing while you munch it.'* " I hear all about you," said the earl ; " Sir Raffle Buffle is an crony of mine." " I don't suppose he ever heard my name as yet," said Johnny.. " But do you really know him well, Lord De Guest ] " " Haven't seen him these thirty years ; but I did know him." «' We call him old Huffle Scuffle." " Huffle Scuffle ! Ha, ha, ha ! He always was Huffle Scuffle ; a noisy, pretentious, empty-headed fellow. But I oughtn't to say so before you, young man. Come, we'll go into the drawing-room." " And what did he say % " asked Lady Julia, as soon as the squire was gone. There was no attempt at concealment, and the question was asked in Johnny's presence. " Well, he did not say much. And coming from him, that ought D 2 - " 36 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON, to be taken as a good sign. He is to think of it, and let me see him again. You hold your head up, Johnny, and remember that you shan't want a friend on your side. Faint heart never won fair lady.'* At seven o'clock on the following morning Eames started on his rqtum journey, and was fvt his desk at twelve o'clock, — as per agreement with his taskmaster at the Income-tax Office. CHAPTER IV. THE COMBAT* I HAVB said that John Eames was at his office punctually at twelve ; but an incident had happened before his arrival there very important in the annals which are now being told, — so important that it is essentially necessary that it should be described with some minuteness of detail Lord De Guest, in the various eonversations which he had had with Eames as t-o Lily Dale and her present position, had always spoken of Crosbie with the most vehement abhorrenca " He is a damned blackguard/' said the earl, and the fire had come out of his round eyes as he spoke. Now the earl was by no means given to cursing and swearing, in the sense which is ordinarily applied to these words. When he made use of such a phrase as that quoted above, it was to be presumed that he in some sort meant what he said ; and so he did, and had intended to signify that Crosbie by his ccmduct had merited all such condemnation as was the fitting punishment for blackguardism of the worst description. " He ought to have his neck broken,'' said Johnny. " I dcoi't know about that," said the earl. " The present times have become so pretty behaved that corporal punishment seems to have gone out of fashion. I shouldn't care so much about that, if any other punishment had taken its place. But it seems to me that a blackguard such as Crosbie can escape now altogether unscathed." '^ He hasn't escaped yet," said Johnny. >'• 38 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON, ^ Don't you go aud put your finger in the pie and make a fool of yourself," said the earL If it had behoved any one to resent in any violent fashion the evil done by Crosbie, Bernard Dale, the earl's nephew, should have been the avenger. This the earl felt, but under these circumstances he was disposed to think that there should be no such violent vengeance. ''Things were different ifhen I was young," he said to himself. But Eames gathered from the earFs tone that the earl's words were not strictly in ac- cordance with his thoughts, and he declared to himself over and over again that Crosbie had not yet escaped. He got into the train at Guestwick, taking a first-cl^s ticket, ^/ [/ 1 because the earl's groom ^n livery was in attendance upon him. Had he been alone he would have gone in a cheaper carriage. Yery weak in him, was it not ) little also, and mean 1 My friend, can you say that you would not have done the same at his age ? Are you quite sure that you would not do the same now that you are double his age ) Be that as it may, Johnny Eames did that foolish thing, and gave the groom in livery half-a-crown into the bargain. '' We shall have you down again soon, Mr. John,*' said the groom, who seemed to understand that Mr. £ames was to be made quite at home at the manor. He went fast to sleep in the carriage, and did not awake till the train was stopped at the Barchester Junction. ** Waiting for the up-train from Barchester, sir,*' said the guard. '' They're always late." Then he went to sleep again, and was aroused in a few minutes by seme one entering the carriage in a great hurry. The branch train had come in, just as the guardians of the line then present had made up their minds that, th^ passengers on the main line should not be kept waiting any longer. The transfer of men, women, and luggage was therefore made in ffreat haste, and they who were now taking their new seats had hardly time to look about them. An old gentleman, very red about the gills, first came into Johnny's cqmage, which up to ^hat moment he had shared with an old lady. The old gentleman THE COMBAT. 39 was abusing everybody, because he was hurried, and would not take himself well into the compartment, but stuck in the doorway, standing on the step. " Now, sir, when you're quite at leisure," said a voice behind the old man, which instantly made Eames start up in his seat. *' I am not at all at leisure," said the old man ; " and Fm not going to break my legs if I know it." Take your time, sir," said the guard. So I mean," said the old man, seating himself in the comer nearest to the open door, opposite to the old lady. Then Eames saw plainly that it was Crosbie who had first spoken, and that he was getting into the carriage. Crosbie at the first glance saw no one but the old gentleman and the old lady, and he immediately made for the unoccupied comer seat. He was busy with his umbrella and his dressing-bag, and a little flustered by the pushing and hurrying. The carriage was actually in motion before he perceived that John Eames was opposite to him : Eames had, instinctively, drawn up his legs so as not to touch him. He felt that he had become very red in the face, and to tell the truth, the perspiration had broken out upon his brow. It was a great occasion, — great in its imminent trouble, and great in its opportunity for action. How was he to carry himself at the first moment of his recognition by his enemy, and what was he to do afterwards 1 It need hardly be explained that Crosbie had also been spending his Christmas with a certain earl of his acquaintance, and that he too was returning to his office. In one respect he had been much more fortunate than poor Eames, for he had been made happy with the smiles of his lady love. Alexandrina and the countess had fluttered about him softly, treating him as a tame chattel, now belonging to the noble house of De Courcy, and in this way he had been initiated into the inner domesticities of that illustrious f&mily. The two extra mennservants, hired to wait upon Lady Dumbello, had vanished. The champagne had ceased to flow in 1^ perennial stream. Lady Rosina had come out from her solitude '^ THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. and bad preached at him constantly. Lady Margaretta had,/gij^^ him soQie. lessons in economy. The Honourable John, in spite of a late quarrel, had borrowed five pounds from him. The Honour" able George had engaged to come and stay with his sister during the next May. The earl had used a father-in-law's privilege, and had called him a fpol. . Lady Alexandrina had told him more than once, in rather a tart voice, that this must be done, and that that must be done ; and the countess had given him her orders as though it was his duty, in* the course of nature, to obey every word that fell from her. Such Jiad been his Christmas delights \ and now, as he returned back from the enjoyment of them, he found himself con- fronted in the railway carriage with Johnny Eames J The eyes of the two met, and Crosbie made a slight inclination of his head. To this Eames gave no acknowledgment whatever, but looked straight into the otjl^er's face. Crosbie immediately saw that .they were not to know.each other, and was well contented Jthat it should be so. Among all his many troubles, the enmity of John Eames did not*go for much. He showed no appearance of being disconcerted, though our friend had shown much. He opened his bag, and taking out a book was soon deeply engaged in it, pursuing his studies as though the man opposite was quite un- known to him. I will not say that his mind did not rvm away from his book; for indeed there were many things of which he found it impossible not to think:; but it did not revert to,4ohn Eames. Indeed, when the carriages reached Paddington, he had in truth all but forgotten him ; and as he stepped out of the carriage, ^ith his bag in his hand, was quite free from any remotest trouble..Qii his account. But it had not been so with Eames himself. Every moment of the journey had for .him been crowded with thought as to what (kb would do now that chance had brought his enemy within hjys reach. He had been made quite wretched by the intensity of his thinking ; and yet, when the carriages stopped, he had not made up his mind. His face had been covered with perspiration ever ^nce Crosbie had come across him^ and his limbs had hardly beeia THE COMBAT. 4X under his own command. Here had oome to him a great oppor- tunity, and he felt so little confidence in himself that he almost knew that he would not use it properly. Twice and thrice he had almost flown at Crosbie's throat in the carriage, but he was restrained by an idea that the world and the police would be against him if he did such a thing in the presence of that old lady. But when Crosbie turned his back upon him, and walked out, it was absolutely necessary that he should do something. He was not going to let the man escape, after all that he had said as to the expediency of thrashing him. Any other disgrace would be preferable to that Fearing, therefore, lest his enemy should be too quick for him, he hurried out after him, and only just gave Crosbie time to turn round and face the carriages before he was upon him. '* You confounded scoundrel 1 " he screamed out. *' You confounded scoundrel ! " and seized him by the throat, throwing himself upon him, and almost devouring him by the fury of his eyes. The crowd upon the platform was not very dense, but there were quite enough of people to make a very respectable audience for this little play. Crosbie, in his dismay, retreated a step or two, and his retreat was much accelerated by the weight of Eames^s attack. He endeavoured to free his throat from his foe's grasp ; but in that he failed entirely. For the minute, however, he did manage to escape any positive blow, owing his safety in that respect rather to Eames's awkwai'dness than to his own efforts. Something about the police he was just able to utter and there was, as a matter of course, an immediate call for a jBupply of those functionaries. In about three minutes three policemen, assisted by six porters, had captured our poor friend ^ Johnny ; but this had not been done quick enough for CroBbie'9 purposes. The bystanders, taken by surprise, had allowi^d the .combatants to fall back upon Mr. Smith's book-stall, and there Eames laid his foe prostrate among the newspapers, falling himself ^ito the yellow shilling-novel dep6t by the over fuxy of his owo 42 THE SMALL HOUSE A7 ALLLNGTON. energy ; but as he fell, he contrived to lodge one blow with his fist in Crosbie's right eye, — one telling blow ; and Crosbie had, to all intents and purposes, been thrashed. " Con — founded scoundrel, rascal, blackguard !" shouted Johnny, with what remnants of voice were left to him, as the police dragged him off. "If you only knew — what he's — done.'* But in the meantime the policemen held him fast. As a matter of course the first burst of public sympathy went with Crosbie. He had been assaulted, and the assault had come from Eames. In the British bosom there is so firm a love of well- constituted order, that these facts alone were sufficient to bring twenty knights to the assistance of the three policemen and the six porters ; so that for Eames, even had he desired it, there was no possible chance of escape. But he did not desire it. One only sorrow consumed him at present. He had, as he felt, attacked Crosbie, but had attacked him in vain. He had had his opportunity, and had misused it. He was perfectly unconscious of that happy blow, and was in absolute ignorance of the great fact that his enemy's eye was already swollen and closed, and that in another hour it would be as black as his hat. '' He is a con — founded rascal ! " ejaculated Eames, as the policemen and porters hauled him about. " You don't know what he's done." " No, we don't," said the senior constable ; " but we know what you have done. I say, Bushers, where's that gentlemen % HeM better come along with us." Crosbie had been picked up from' among the newspapers by another policeman and two or three other porters, and was attended also by the guard of the train, who knew him, and knew that he had come up from Courcy Castle. Three or four hangers- on were standing also around him, together with a benevolent medical man who was proposing to him an immediate application of leeches. If he could have done as he wished, he would have gone his way quietly, allowing Eames to do the same. A great evil had be&llen him, but he could in no way mitigate that evil^ THE COMBAT, 43 by taking the law of the man who had attacked him. To have the thing as little talked about as possible should be his endea- vour. What though he should have Eames locked up and fined, and scolded by a police nuigistrate t That would not in any degree lessen his calamity. If he could have parried the attack, and got the better of his foe ; if he could have administered the black eye instead of receiving it, then indeed he could have laughed the matter off at his club, and his original crime would have been somewhat glozed over by his success in arms. But such good fortune had not been his. He was forced, howev^, on the moment to decide as to what he would do. " We've got him here in custody, sir,** said Bushers, touching his hat. It had become known from the guard that Crosbie was somewhat of a big man, a frequent guest at Courcy Castle, and of repute and station in the higher regions of the Metropolitan world. <' The magistrates will be sitting at Paddington, now, sir — or will be by the time we get there." By this time some mighty railway authority had come upon the scene and made himself cognizant of the facts of the row, — a stem official who seemed to carry the weight of many engines on his brow ; one at the very sight of whom smokers would drop their cigars, and porters close their fists against sixpences; a great man with an erect chin, a quick step, and a well-brushed hat powerful with an elaborately upturned brim. This was the plat- form-superintendent, dominant even over the policemen. " Step into my room, Mr. Crosbie," he said. " Stubbs, bring that man in with you." And then, before Crosbie bad been able to make up his mind as to any other line of conduct, he found himself in the superintendent's room, accompanied by the guard, and by the two policemen who conducted Johnny Eames between them. " What's all this % " said the superintendent, still keeping on his hat, for he was aware how much of the excellence of his personal dignity was owing to the arrangement of that article ; and as he spoke he frowned upon the culprit with his utmost 44 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON severity. ''Mr. Crosbie, I am very sorry that you should have Jbeen exposed to such brutality on our platform.'' "You don't know, what he has done/' said Johnny. ''He is the most confounded scoundrel living. He has broken ^ But then he stopped himself. He was going to tell the superintendent that the confounded scoundrel had broken a beautiful young lady's heart ; but he bethought himself that he would not allude more specially to Lily Dale in that hearing. '' Do you know who he is, Mr. Crosbie ) " said the superinten- dent. " Ohy yes/' said Crosbie, whose eye was already. becoming blue.. " He is a clerk in the Income-Tax Office, and his name is Eames. I believe you had better leave him to me." But the superintendent at Once wrote down the words " Income- tax Office — Eames," on his tablet. " We can't aUow a row like that to take place on our platform and not notice it I shall bring it before the directors. It's a most disgraceful affair, Mr. Eames — most disgracefuL" But Johnny by this time had perceived that Croebie's eye was in a state which proved satisfactorily that his morning's work had not been thrown away, and his spirits were rising accordingly. He did not care two straws for the superintendent or even for the policemen, if only the story could be made to tell well for himself hereafter. It was his object to have thrashed Crosbie, and now, as he looked at his enemy's face, he acknowledged that Providence had been good to him. " That's your opinion," said Johnny. " Yes, . sir, it is," said the superintendent ; " and L shall know how to represent the matter to your superiors, young. man." '.'You don't know all about it," said Eames; "and I don't suppose you ever will. I had made up my mind what I'd do the first time I saw. that scoundrel there \ ai^d now I've done it. He'd have got much, worse in. the, railway carriage,, only there w(^ at lady there," ' THE COMBAT. 45 '' Mr. Crosbie, I really think we had better take him before the magistrates.'' To this, however, Crosbie objected. He assured the superinten- dent that he would himself know how to deal with the matter — which, however, was exactly what he did not know. Would the superintendent allow one of the railway servants to get a cab for him, and to find his luggage 1 He was very anxious to get home without being subjected to any more of Mr. Eames's insolence. " You haven't done with Mr. Eames's insolence yet, I can tell you. All London shall hear of it, and shall know why. If you have any shame in you, you shall be ashamed to show your face." Unfortunate man ! Who can say that punishment — adequate punishment — had not overtaken him? B^or the present, he had to sneak home with a black eye, with the knowledge inside him that he had been whipped by a clerk in the Income-tax Office ; and for the future — he was bound over to marry Lady Alexandrina De Courcy ! He got himself smuggled off in a cab, without being forced to go again upon the platform-^his luggage being brought to hira by two assiduous porters. But in all this there was very little balm for his hurt pride* As he ordered the cabman to drive to Mount Street, he felt that he had ruined himself by that step in life which he had taken at Gourcy Castle. Whichever way he looked he had no comfort. "D the fellow !" he said, almost out loud in the cab ; but though he" did with his outward voice allude to Eames, the curse in his inner thoughts was uttered against himself. Johnny was allowed to make his way down to the platform, and there find his own carpet-bag. One young porter, however, came up and fraternized with him. "You guve it him tidy just at that last moment, sir. But, laws, sir, you should have let out at him at fust. What^s the use of clawing a man's neck-collar 1" ^ It was then a quarter past eleven> but, nevertheless, Eames appeared at his office precisely at twelve. CHAPTER V. \M V1CTI3. Crosbie had two engagements for that day; one being his natural engagement to do his work at his office, and the other an engagement, which was now very often becoming as natural, to dine at St. John's Wood with Lady Amelia Gazebee. It was manifest to him when he looked at himself in the glass that he could keep neither of these engagements. **0h, laws. Mr. Crosbie," the woman of the house exclaimed when she saw him. " Yes, I know," said he. " I've had an accident and got a black eye. What's a good thing for it ]" " Oh ! an accident ! " said the woman, who knew well that that mark had been made by another mau's fist. ** They do say that a bit of raw beef is about the best thing. But then it must be held on constant all the morning." Anything would be better than leeches, which tell long-enduring tales, and therefore Crosbie sat through the greater part of the morning holding the raw beef to his eye. But it was necessary that he should write two notes as he held it, one to Mr. Butter well at his office, and the other to his future sister-in-law. He felt that it would hardly be wise to attempt any entire concealment of the nature of his catastrophe, as some of the circumstances would assuredly become known, If he said that he had fallen over the coal-scuttle, or on to the fender, thereby cutting his face, people would learn that he had fibbed, and would learn also that be had had some reason for fibbing. Therefore he constructed his V^ VICTIS. 47 notes with a phraseology that bound him to no details. To Butterwell he said that he had had an accident — or rather a row — ^and that he had come out of it with considerable damage to his frontispiece. He intended to be at the office on the next day, whether able to appear decently there or not. But for the sake of decency he thought it well to give himself that one half-day's chance. Then to the Lady Ameha he also said that he had had an accident, and had been a little hurt. ** It is nothing at all serious, and affects only my appearance, so that I had better remain in for a day. I shall certainly be with you on Sunday. Don't let (iazebee trouble himself to come to me, as I shan't be at home after to-day." Gazebee did trouble himself to come to Mount Street so often, and South Audley Street, in which was Mr. Gazebee's office, was so disagreeably near to Mount Street, that Crosbie inserted this in order to protect himself if possible. Then he gave special orders that he was to be at home to no one, fearing that Gazebee would call for him after the hours of busi- ness— to make him safe and carry him off bodily to St. John's Wood. The beefsteak and the dose of physic and the cold-water appli- cation which was kept upon it all night was not efficacious in dispelling that horrid, black-blue colour by ten o'clock on the following morning. " It certainly have gone down, Mr. Crosbie \ it certainly have," said the mistress of the lodgings, touching the part affected with her finger. " But the black won't go out of them all in a minute ; it won't indeed. Couldn't you just stay in one more day]" '*But will one day do it, Mrs. Phillips]" Mrs. Phillips couldn't take upon herself to say that it would. ** They mostly come with little red streaks across the black before they goes away," said Mrs. Phillips, who would seem to have been the wife of a prize-fighter, so well was she acquainted with black eyes. " And that won't be till to-morrow," said Crosbie, affecting to be mirthful in his agony. 48 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. *' Not till the third day ; — and then they wears themselves out, gradual. I never knew leeches do any good." He stayed at home the second day, ctnd then resolved that he would go to his office, black eye and all. In that morning's news-* paper he saw an account of the whole transaction, saying how Mr. C of the office of General Committees, who was soon about to lead to the hymeneal altar the beautiinl daughter of the Earl De C , had been mad& the subject of a brutal personal attack on the platform of the Great Western Railway Station, and how he was confined to his room from the injuries which he had received. The paragraph went on to state that the delinquent had, as it was believed, dared to raise his eyes to the same lady, and that his audacity had been treated with scorn by every member of the noble family in question. ** It was, however, satisfactory to know," so said the newspaper, "that Mr. C had amply avenged himself, and so had flogged the young man in question, that he had been unable to stir from his bed since the occurrence." On reading this Crosbie felt that it would be better that hfe should show himself at once, and tell as much of the truth as the world would be likely to ascertain at last without his telling. So on that third morning he put on his hat and gloves, anil hacE himself taken to his office, though the red-streaky period of his misfortune had hardly even yet come upon him. The task of walking along the office passage, through the messengers* lobby, and into his room, was very disagreeable. Of course everybody looked at him, and of course he failed in his attempt to appear as though he did not mind it. " Boggs," he said to one of the men as he passed by, "just see if Mr. Butterwell is in his room," and then, as he expected, Mr. Butterwell came to him after the expiration of a few minutes. " Upon my word, that is serious," said Mr. Butterwell, looking into the secretary's damaged face. *^ I don't think I would have come out if I had been you.** " Of course it's disagreeable," said Crosbie j '* but it's better t6 Vy£ VICTIS. -49^ put up with it. Fellows do tell such horrid lies if a juan isn't seen for a day or two. I believe it's best to put a good face upon it." ''That's more than you can do just at present, eh, Crosbie?*' And then Mr. Butterwell tittered. "But how on earth did it happen 9 The paper says that you pretty well killed the fallow who did it." ''The paper lies, as papers always do. X didn't touch him at all." " Didn't you, though 9 I should like to have had a poke at « him after getting such a tap in the face as that." " The policemen came, and all that sort of thing. One isn*t allowed to fight it out in a row of that kind as one would have to do on Salisbury Heath. Not that I mean to say that I could lick the fellow. How's a man to know whether he can or not ?" " How, indeed, unless he gets a licking, — or gives ii ? But who^ was he, and what's this about his having been scorned by the noble family I" " Trash and lies, of coursOi He had never seen any of the De Courcy people." "I suppose the truth is, it was. about that othpr — — eh, Crosbiel I knew you'd find yourself in some trouble before you'd done." " I don't know what it was about, or why he should have made such a brute of himself. You have heard about those people at AlUngtonl" " Oh, yes ; I have heard about them." " God knows, I didn't mean to say anything against them. They knew nothing about it." " But the young fellow knew them 1 Ah, yes, I see all about it. He wants to 'step into your shoes. I can't say that he sets about it in a bad way. But what do you mean to do 1" Nothing." Nothing I Won't that look queer] I think I should have him befc»*e the magistrates." VOL. II. /^ a ft so THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON^ '' You see, Butterwell, I am bound to spare that girl's name. I know I have behaved badly." " Well, yes ; I fear you have." Mr. Butterwell said this with some considerable amount of decision in his voice, as though he did not intend to mince matters, or in any way to hide his opinion. Crosbie had got into a way of condemning himself in this matter of his marriage, but was very anxious that others, on hearing such condemnation from him, should say something in the way of palliating his fault. It would be so easy for a friend to remark that such little pecca- dilloes were not altogether uncommon, and that it would some' times happen in life that people did not know their own mind& He had hoped for some such benevolence from Fowler Pratt, but had hoped in vain. Butterwell was a good-natured, easy man l^nxious to stand well with all about him, never pretending to any very high tone of feeling or of morals ; and yet Butterwell would say no word of comfort to him. He could get no one to slur over his sin for him, as though it were no sin, — only an unfortunate mistake ; no one but the De Courcys, who had, as it were, taken possession of him and swallowed him alive. '' It can't be helped now," said Crosbie. *' But as for that fellow who made such a brutal attack on me the other morning, he knows that he is safe behind her petticoats. I can do nothing which w^ould not make some mention of her name necessary." "Ah, yes; I see," said ButterwelL "It's very unfortunate; very. I don't know that I can do anything for you. Will you come before the Board to-day 1 " " Yes ; of course I shall," said Croebie, who was becoming very sore. His sharp ear had told him that all Butterwell's respect and cordiality were gone,— at any rate for the time. Butterwell, though holding the higher official rank, had always been accus- tomed to treat him as though he, the inferior, were to be courted^ He had possessed, and had known himself to possess, in his office as well as in the outside world, a sort of rank much higher than that which from his position he could claim legitimately. Now he wa§ V^ VICTIS. SI being deposed. There could be no better touchstone ia such a matter than ButterwelL He would go as the world went, but he would perceive almost intuitively how the world intended to go. '* Tact, tact, tact," as he was in the habit of saying ta him- self when walking along the paths of his Putney villa Crosbie was now secretary, whereas a few months before he had been simply a clerk ; but, nevertheless, Mr. Butterweirs instinct told him that Crosbie had fallen. Therefore he declined to offer any sympathy to the man in his misfortune, and felt aware, as he left the secretary's roomi, that it might probably be some time before he visited it again. Crosbie resolved in his soreness that henceforth he would brazea it out. He would go to the Board, with as much indifference as to his black eye as he was able to assume, and if any one said aught to him he would be ready with his answer. He would go to his club, and let him who intended to show him any slight beware of his wrath. He could not turn upon John £ame6, but he could turn upon others if it were necessary. He had not gained for himself a position before the world, and held it now for some years, to allow himself to be crushed at once because he had made a mistake. If the world, his world, chose to go to war with him, he would be ready for the fight As for Butterwell, — Butterwell the incompetent, Butterwell the vapid, — ^for Butterwell, who in every little official difficulty had for years past come to him, he would let Butterwell know what it was to be thus disloyal to one who had coudescended to be his friend. He would show them all at the Board that he scorned them, and could be their master. Then, too, as he was making some other resolves as to his future conduct, he made one or two resolutions respecting the De Courcy people. He would make it known to them that he was not going to be their very humble servant. He would speak out his mind with considerable plainness ; and if upon that they should choose to break off this " alliance,*' they might do so ; he would not break his heart. - And as he leaned back in his arm charr, thinking of all ^ thiB; an idea made its way into his brain, — a floating castle in the 52 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. air, rather than the image of a thing that might bj possibility be realized ; and in this castle in the air he saw himself kneeling again at Lily's feet, asking her pardon, 'and begging- that he might once more be taken to her heart. "Mr. Crosbie is here to-day," said Mr. Butterwell to Mr. Optimist. " Oh, indeed," said Mr Optimist, very gravely ; for he had heard all about the row at the railway station. ** They've made a monstrous show of him. " "I am very sorry to hear it. It's so — so— so If it were one of the younger clerks, you know, we should tell hiiji that it was discreditable to the department. " If a man gets a blow in the eye, he can't help it, you know. He didn't do it himself, I suppose," said Major FiasdoV . ^^ - - " I am well aware that he didn't do it| himself," cdc^inued Mr. Optimist j " but I really think that, in his position,^ he should have kept himself out of any such encounter." ** He would have done so if he could, with all his heart/' said the major. " I don't suppose he liked being thrashed any hietter that I should." ^ Nobody gives me a black eye," said Mr. Optimist. " Nobody has as yet," said the major. " I hope they never will," said Mr. Butterwell. Then, the hour for their meeting having come round, Mr. Crosbie came into the Board-room. ** We have been very sorry to hear of this misfortune," said Mr. Optimist, very gravely. " Not half so sorry as I have been," said Crosbie with a laugh. " It's an uncommon nuisance to have a black eye, and to go about looking like a prize-fighter." *' And like a prize-fighter that didn't win his battle too," said Fiasco. *' I don't know that there's much difference as to that," said Crosbie. " But the whole thing is a nuisance, and if you please, we won't say anything more about it," . v V^ VICTIS. a . Mr. Optimist almost entertained an opinion that it was his duty to saj something more about it. Was not he the chief Com* missionery and was not Mr. Crosbie secretary to the Board 1 Ought he, looking at their respective positions, to pass over without a word of notice such a manifest impropriety as this) Would not Sir Buffle Buffle have said something had Mr. ButterweU, when secretary, come to the office with a black eye % He wished to exercise all the full rights of a chairman ; but, nevertheless, as he locdLod at the secretary he felt embarrassed, and was unable to find the proper words. '' H — ^m, ha, well ; we'll go to business now, if you please," he said, as though reserving to himself the right of returning to the secretary's black eye, when the more usual busi- ness of the Board should be completed. But when the more usual busmess of the Board had been completed, the secretary left the room without imy further reference to his eye. Crosbie^ when he got back to his own apartment^ found Mor- timer Gazebee waiting there for him^ ''My dear fellow," said Gazebee, ''this is a very nasty afeir." " Uncommonly nasty," said Grosbie ; ** so nasty that I don't mean to talk about it to anylKMiy." " Lady Amelia is quite unhappy." He always called her Lady Amelia, even when speaking of her to his own brothers and sisters. He was too well behaved to take the liberty of calling an earl's daughter by her plain Christian name, even though that earl's daughter was his own wife. " She £ears that you have been a good deal hurt" " Not at all hurt ; but disfigured, as you see." " And so you beat the fellow well that did it }" " No^ I didn't^" said Crosbie, very angrily. " I didn't beat him at alL Tou don't believe everything you read in the newspapers ; do you 1" "Noy I don't believe, everything. Of course I didn't believe about his having< aspired to an alliance with the Lady Alexandrina. That was untrue^ of course." Mr. Gazebee showed by the tone of 54 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. hiB Toioe that impmdenoe so unparaUeled as that was quite in- credible. *' You shouldu't believe anything ; ezoept this— that I hare got a black eye." '' You certainly hare got that. Lady Amelia thinks you would be more comfortable if you wonkl come up to us this eyening* You can't go out, of course ; but Lady Atnelia said, very good* naturedly, that you need not mind with her." " Thank you, no ; 111 come on Sunday/' • *^* Of course Lady Alexandrina will be very anxious to hear from her sister ; and Lady Amelia begged me very particularly to press you to come.'' " Thank you, no ; not to-day." " Why not t" " Oh, simply because I shall be better at homfe.*' ** How can you be better at home 1 You can have anything that you want Lady Amelia won't mind, you know." Another beeftteak to his eye, as he sat in the drawing-room, a cold-water bandage, or any little medical appliance of that sort ; — ^these were the things which Lady Amelia would in berdomestio good nature, condescend not to mind \ ** I won't trouble her this evening," said Crosbie. " Wdl, upon my word, I think you're wrong AH manner of stories will get down to Courcy Castle, and to the countess's ears ; and you don't know what harm may come of it. Lady AmeHa thinks she had better write and explain it ; but she can't do so till she has heard something about it from you." ^* Look here, Gazebee. I don't caie one straw what stoxy finds its way down to Courcy Castle." ** But if the earl were to hear anything and be offended % " ** He may recover from his offence as he best likes." " My dear fellow ; that's talking wildly, you know." ** What on earth do you suppose the earl can do to me t Do you think I'm going to live in fear of Lord De Coorey all my life, because I'm going to marry his daughter 1 I shall write to Alex- VjE VICTIS, ■ - 5S aadrina myself torday, and you eaa tell her sister so. Til be up to dinner on Sunday, unless my face makes it altogether out of the question/' '^ And you won't come in time for church ) " ** Would you have me go to church with such a face as this 1 " Then Mr. Mortimer Qazebee went, and when he got home he told his wife that Crosbie was taking things with a high hand, ** The fact is, my dear, that he's ashamed of himself, and therefore tries to put a bold face upon it." *^ It was very foolish of him throwing himself in the way of that young man, — ^rery ; and so I shall tell him on Sunday. If he chooses to give himself airs to me, I shall make him under- stand that he is very wrong. He should remember now that the way in which he conducts himself is a matter of moment to all our family." . '* Of course he should," said Mr. Gazebee. When the Sunday came. the fed-streaky period had arrived, but had by no means as yet passed away. The men at the office had almost become used to it ; but Crosbie, in spite of his determinar tian to go down to the 'Club, had not yet shown himself elsewhere. Of course he did not go to church, but at five he made his appear- ance at the house in St. John's Wood. They always dined at fiye on Sundays, having Some idea that by doing so they kept the Sabbath better than they would have done had they dined at seven. If keeping the Sabbath consists in going to bed eaidy, or is in any way assisted • by such a practice, they were right. To the cook that semi-early dinner might perha{>s be convenient^ as it gave her an excuse for nojb going to church in the afternoon, as the servants' and children's dinner gave her a sinpiilcur excuse in the morning. Such little attempts at goodness, — proceeding half 1^ way, a nickname," said the proud daughter of the V^ VICTIS. 59 house. She was probably unaware that among many of his asso- ciates her father had been called Lord De Curse'ye, from the occasional energy of his language. *' And any such attempt is pain^ in my ears. I think something of my family, I can assure you, Adolphus, and so does my husband." *' A very great deal^" said Mr. Gazebee. " So do I of mine/' said Crosbie. " That's natural to all of us. One of my ancestors came over with William the Conqueror, I think he was one of the assistant cooks in the king's tent." " A cook ! " said young De Courcy. "Yes, my boy, a cook. That was the way most of our old fiunilies were made noble. They were cooks, or butlers to the kings— or sdmetimes something worse." ^But your fkmily isn't noble 1" « No— m tell you how that was. The king wanted this cook to p(nson half-a^ozen of his officers who wished to have a way of their own ; but the cook said, ' No, my Lord King ; I am a cook, not an executioner.' So they smt him into the scullery, and when they called all the other servants barons and lords, they only called him' Gk)ok6y. They'TC changed the name to Crosbie since that, by d^^rees." Mr. Qazebee was awestruck, and the face of the Lady Amelia became very dftrk. Y^as it not evident that this snake, when taken into their innermost bosoms that they might there warm him, was becoming an adder, and preparing to sting them 1 There was very little more conversation that evening, and so(»i after the story of the cook, Crosbie got up and^ went away to his owli home. CHAPTER Vlf "see, the oonqubrino hero comes.*' JoHK £ahbs bftfl reaofaed lus < office precifi^y at twelvQ^^ p'iC^k, but when he did so he hardly knew whether he was. fltftndiwg. on his heels or his head. The whole morning had been to him ooe of intense excitement, and latterly, to 'a certain extfint, one of triumph. Bnt he did not at all know what might be the . results. Would he be taken before a magistrate and locked up}. Would there be a row at the office % Would Crosbie call him put, and, if so, would it be incumbent on him to fight a duel with pistols 1 What would Lord De Guest say-^Lord Dediuest, who had specially warned him not to take upon himself the duty of avenging lil^^s wrongs 1 What would all the Dale family say of his Gondaatl And, abbvei all, what would Lily say and think ? Neyertheless, the feeling of triumph was predominaiit ; and now, at this interval of time, he was beginning to remember with pleasure ,tbe seipusation of his fist as it went into Crosbie's eje. During his first day at the<. office he heard notixiag -about the afiiair, nor did he- say a word of it to any one. It ,W)is known in his room that he had gone down to spend his Christmas. holi- day with Lord De Guest, and he was treated with some increased consideration accordingly. And, moreover, I must explain, in order that I may give Johimy Eames his due, he was gradually acquiring for himself a good footing among the income-tax officials. He knew his work, and did it with some manly confidence in his own powers, and also with some manly indifference to the occa- sional frowns of the mighty men of the department He waSp ''SEE, THE CONQUERING HERO COMESJ' 6i moreover, popular — ^being somewhat of a radical iu bis official de- meanour, and holding by his own rights, even though mighty men should frown. In truth, he was emerging from his hobbledehoy- hood and entering upon his young manhood, having probably to go through much folly and some false sentiment in that period of his existence, but still with fair promise of true manliness beyond, to those who were able to read the signs of his character. Many questions on that first day were asked him about the glories of his Christmas, but he had very little to say on the sub. ject. Indeed nothing could have been much more conmionplaoe than his Christmas visit, had it not been for the one great object which had taken him down to that part of the country, and for the circumstance with which his holiday had been ended. On Ci n^tber of these subjects was he disposed to speak openly ; but as he Walked home to Burton Crescent with Cradell, he did tell him of the afiair with Crosbie. ^' And you went in at him on the station ? " asked Cradell, with admiring deubt " Yes, I did. If I didn't do it there, where was I to do it 1 I'd said I would, and therefore when I saw him I did it.*' Then the whole affair was told as to the black eye, the police, and the super- intendent. " And what*s to come next 1 " asked our hero. *' Well, he'll put it in the hands of a friend, of course : as I did with Fisher in that affair with Lupex. And, upon my word, Johnny, I shall have to do something of the kind again. His conduct last night was outrageous; would you believe it ^" '"Oh, he's a fool" *' He's a fool you wouldn't like to meet when he's in one of his mad fits, I can tell you that. I absolutely had to sit up in my own bedronm all last night. -Mother Eoper told me th9,t if I re- mained in the drawing-room she would feel herself obliged to have a policeman in the house. What could I do, you know ? I made her have a fire for me, of course." ** And then you went to bed." ''I- waited ever so long, because I thought that Maria woul^ 62 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. want to see me. At last she sent me a note. .Maria is so impru- dent, you know. If he had found anything in l^er writing, it would have been terrible, you knoWy«^uite terrible. And who can say whether Jemima mayn't .tell \ '* '' And what did she say ) " f/ "Come; that's telling/ Master Johnny. I took very good care to take it with me to the office this morning, for fear <^ accidents." But Eames was not so widely awake to the importance of his Mend's adventures as he might have been had he not been weighted with adventures of his own. '*I shouldn't care so much," said he, "about that fellow, Orosbie, going to a Mend, as I should about his going to a police magistrate." " He'll put it in a friend's hands, of course," said Cradell, with the air of a man who from experience waa well up in such mattezs. ^ And I suppose you'U naturally come to me. It's a deuced bore to a man in a public office, and all that kind of thing, of cotuse. But I'm not the man to desert my friend. I'll stand by you, Johnny, my boy." <' Oh, thank you," said Eames, '^ I don't thmk that I shall want that." " You must be ready with a friend, you know." If " I should write down to a man I know in the country, and ask his advice," said Eames; ^'an older sort of friend, you know." '* By Jove, old fellow, take care what you're about. Don't let them say of you that you show the white feather. Upon my honour, I'd sooner have anything said of me than that I would, indeed, — anything." " I'm not afraid of that," said Eames, with a touch of scorn in his voice, " There isn't much thought about white feathers now- a-days, — ^not in the way of fighting duels." After that Cradell managed to carry back the conversation to Mrs. Lupex and his own peculiar position, and as Eames did **SE3^ THE CONQUERING HERO COMESr 65 not care to ask from his companion further advice in his own matters, he listened nearly in silence till they reached Burton Crescent. " I hope you found the noble earl well/' said Mrs. Roper to him as soon as they were all seated at dinner. '' I found the noble earl pretty well, thank you/' said Johnny. It had become plainly understood by all the Roperites that £ames*s position was quite altered since he had been honoured with the firiendship of Lord De Guest. Mrs. Lupex, next to whom he always sat at dinner, with a view to protecting her as it were from the dangerous neighbourhood of Gradell, treated him with a marked courtesy. Miss Spruce always called him ^' sir." Mrs. Roper helped him the first of the gentlemen, and was mindful about his fat and gravy, and Amelia felt less able than she was before to insist upon the possession of his heart and affections. It must not be supposed that Amelia intended to abandon the fight, and allow the enemy to walk off with his forces ; but she felt herself constrained to treat him with a deference that was hardly compatible with tiie perfect equality which should attend any union of hearts. " It is such a privilege to be on visiting tdrms with the nobility," said Mrs. Lupex. '* When I was a girl, I used to be very inti- mate " '* You ain't a girl any longer, and so you'd better not talk about it," said Lupex. Mr. Lupex had been at that little shop in Drury Lane after he came down firom his scene-painting. " My dear, you needn't be a brute to me before all Mrs. Roper's company. If, led away by feelings which I will not now deBcribe, I left my proper circles in marrying you, you need not before all the world teach me how much I have to regret." And Mrs. Lupex, putting down her knife and fork, applied her handkerchief to her eyes. '^ That's pleasant for a man over his meals, isn't it % " said Lupex, appealing to Miss Spruce. " 1 have plenty of that kind of thing, and you can't think how I like it." 64 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. " Them whom God has joined together, let no man pat asun- der/* said Miss Spruce. ''As for me myself, I'm only an old woman." This little ebullition threw a gloom over the dinn^r-t^ble, and nothing more was said on the ocoasion as to the giart€^^ of Eames's career. But, in the. course of the evening, Amelia heard of the encounter which had taken place at the railway station, and' at once perceived that she might use the occasion for her own purposes. ''John," she whispered to her victim, finding an opportunity for coming upon him when almost alone,. " what is this I hear 1 I insist upon knowing. Ai&»you going to fight a dyb&ll" : " Nonsense," said Johnny. " But it is not nonsense. You don't kuow what my fbelingterwill be, if I think that snch a thing is going to happen. But then you are so hard-hearted ! " " I ain't hard-hearted a bit, and I'm not going to fight a duel" " But is it true that you beat Mr. Crosbl$ at the station 1 " " It is true. I did beat him." " Oh, John ! not that I meaiy to say you were wrong, and indeed I honour yvu for the feelings There can be nothing-jsjo dreadful as a young man's deceiving a young woman and leaving her after he has won her heart, — particularly when she has had his promise in plain words, or, perhaps, even in black apd white." John thought of that horrid, foolish, wretched note which he had written. " And a .p)Qor girl, if she can't right herself by a breach of promise, doesn't know what to do. Does she, John ? " " A girl who'd right herself that way wouldn't be worth having.' "I don't know about that. When a poor girl is in such a position, she has to be said by her friends. I suppose, then, Miss Lily Dale won't bring a breach of promise against him." This mention of Lily's name in such a place was sacrilege in the ears of poor Eames. " I cannot tell," said he, " what may be the. intention of the lady of whom you speak. But from- what 1 "^SEE, THE CONQUERING HERO COMESr iSj know of her friends, I should not think that she will be disgraced by such a proceeding." "That may be all very well for Miss lily Dale *' imelia said, and then she hesitated. It would not be well, she thought^ absolutely to threaten him as yet, — not as long as there was any possibility that he might be won without a threat. " Of course I know all about it," she continued. " She was your L. D., you know. Not that I was ever jealous of her. To you she was no moi e than one of childhood's friends. Was she, Johnny % " He stamped ha foot *upoa the floor, and then jumped up from his seat. " I hate all that sort of twaddle about childhood's friends, and you know I do. You'll make me swear that I'll never come into this room again." " Johnny \ " ^ So I wilL Tbe whole thing makes me sick. And as for that Mrs. Lupex^ " " If this is what you learn, John, by going to a lord's house, I tMnk you had better stay at home with your own friends." •^* Of course I had ; — much better stay at home with my own friends. Here's Mrs. Lupex, and at any rate I can't stand her." So he went off, and walked round the Crescent, and down to the New Road, and almost into the Regent's Park, thinking of Lily Dale and of his own cowardice with Amelia Roper. On the following morning he receeived a message, at about one o'clock, by the mouth of the Board-room messenger, informing him that his presence was required in the Board-room. "Sir Raffle Buffle has desired your presence, Mr. Eames." ** My presence, Tupper ! what for ? " said Johnny, turning upon the messenger almost with dismay. " Indeed I can't say, Mr. Eames \ but Su' Raffle Buffle has desired your presence in the Board-room." Such a message as that in official life always strikes awe into the heart of a young man. And yet, young men generally come. forth fix)m such interviews without having received any serious damage, and generally toJk about the old gentlemen whom they voii. li. F 66 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. have eiiconntered with a good deal of light-spirited sareasm, — or chafiT, as it is called in the slang phraseology of the day. It is that same * majesty which doth hedge a king' that does it. The turkey-cock in his own farmyard is master of the occasion, and the thought of him creates fear. A bishop in bis lawn, a judge on the bench, a chairman in the big room at the end of a long table, or a policeman with his bull's-eye lamp upon his beat, can all make themselves terrible by means of those appanages of majesty which have been vouchsafed to them. But how mean is the policeman in his own home, and how few thought much of Sir Eaffie Buffle as he sat asleep after dinner in his old slippers ! How well can I remember the terror created within me by the air of outraged dignity with which a certain fine old gentleman, now long since gone, could rub his hands slowly, one on the other, and look up to the ceiling, slightly shaking his head, as though lost in the con- templation of my iniquities ! I would become sick in my stomach, and feel as though my ankles had been Iwoken. That upward turn of the eye unmanned me so completely that I was speechless as regarded any defence. I think that that old man could hardly have known the extent of his own power. Once upon a time a careless lad, having the charge of a bundle of letters addressed to the King, — petitions And such like, which in the course of business would not get beyond the hands of some lord-in- waiting's deputy assistant, — sent the bag which contained them to the wrong place ; to Windsor, perhaps, if the Court were in London; or to St. James's, if it were at Windsor. He was summoned ; and the great man of the occasion contented himself with holding his hands up to the heavens as he stoodup from his chair, and exclaiming twice, " Mis-sent the Monarch's pouch ! Mis-sent the Monarch's pouch ! " That young man never knew how he escaped from the Board-room ; but for a time he was de- prived of all power of exertion, and could not resume his work till he had had six months' leave of absence, and been brought round upon rum and asses' milk. In that instance the peculiar use of the word Monarch had a power which the official magnate had c< SEEy THE CONQUERING HERO COMES:' 67 never contemplated. The story is traditional ; but I believe that the circumstance happened as lately as in the days of George the Third. John Eames could laugh at the present chairman of the Income- tax Ofl&ce with great freedom, and call him old Huffle Souffle, and the like ; but now that he was sent for, he also, in spite of his radical propensities^ felt a little weak about his ankle joints. He knew, from the first hearing of the message, that he was wanted with reference to that affair at the railway station. Per- haps there might be a rule that any clerk should be dismissed who used his fists in any public place. There were many rules entail-, ing the punishment of dismissal for many offences, — and he began to think that he did remember something of such a regulation. However, he got up, looked once around him upon his friends, and then followed Tupper into the Board-room. t* There's Johnny been sent for by old Scuffles," said one clerk. " That's about his row with Crosbie," said another. " The Board can't do anything to hiui for that." "Cau*tit]" said the first. "Didn't young Outonites have to resign because of that row at the Cider Collirs, though his cousin, Sir Constant Outonites, did all that he could for him 1 " *' But he was regularly up the spout with accommodation bills." " I tell you that I wouldn't l)e in Eames's shoes for a trifle. Crosbie is secretary at the Committee Office, where Scuffles was chairman before he came here ; and of course they're as thick as thieves. I shouldn't wonder if they didn't make him go down and apologize." " Johnny won t do that," said the other. In the meantime John Eames was standing in the august presence. Sir Raffle Buffle was throned in his great oak armchair at the head of a long table in a veiy large room ; and by him, at the comer of the table, was seated one of the assistant secretaries of the office. Another member of the Board was also at work upon the long table ; but he was rcavling and signing papers at some .F 2 6S THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLTNGTON. distanoe from Sir Raffle, and paid na heed ^whatever to the scene. The asBidtant secretary, looking on, coold see that Sir Baffle was annoyed hy this want of a^ tention on the part of his colleague, but all thid was lost upon Eames. " Mr. Eames % " said Sir Raffle, ppcaking with a peculiarly harsh voicei, and looking at the- culprit through a pair of gold rimmed glasses, whi^ he pei'ched for the oocasion npc^i his big nose. « Isn't that Mr; Eamce ? " . " Yes," said the assistant secretary, " this is Eames.** " Ah ! " — and then there was a pause. " Come a little nearer, Mr. Eames, will you % ** and Johnny drew nearer, adyancii^ noise- lessly over the Turkey carpet ^ Let me eee ; in the second class, isii't he ? Ah ! Do you know, Mr. Eames, that 1 have received a letter from the secretary to the Directors of the Gr^at Western Railway Company, detailiog circumstances which, — if truly stated in that letter, —redound very much to your discredit ?" " I did get into a row there yesterday, sir." " Got into a row I It seems to me that you have got into a very serious row, and that I must tell the Directors of the Great Western Railway Company that the law must be allowed to take its course." ** 1 shan't mind that, sir, in the least,** said Eames, brightening up a little under this view of the case. " Not mind that, sir ! " said Sir Raffle--^r rather, he shouted out the words at the offender before him. I am inclined to think that he overdid it, missing the effect which a milder tone might have attained. Perhaps there was lacking to him some of that majesty of demeanom* and dramatic propriety of vQJce which had been so efflcacious in the little story as to the King's bag of letters. As it was, Johnny gave a slight jump, but after his jump he felt better than he had been before. ■* Not mind, sir, being dragged before the criminal tribunals of your country, and beiifg punished as a felon, — or rather as a nusdemeanlou^ — for an out* p '' continued Sir Raffle. ^ You may go now-'^ And Johnny returned to his own place, with no increased reverence for the dignity of the chairntan. i^n the following morning one of his colleagues showed iuok 70 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON'. with great glee the passage in the newspaper which informed the world that he had been so desperately beaten by Crosbie that he was obliged to keep his bed at' the present time in consequence of the flogging that he had received. Then his anger was aroused, and he bounced about the big room of the Income-tax Office, regardless of assistant secretaries, head (derks, and all other official grandees whatsoever, denouncing the iniqui- ties of the public press, and declaring his opinion that it would be better to live in Russia than in a country which allowed such audacious falsehoods to be propagated. " He never touched me, Fisher ; I don't think he ever tried > but, upon my honour, he never touched me.*' '^But^ Johnny, it was bold in you to make up to Lord De Courcy's diaughter," said Fisher. " I never saw one of them in my life." " He's going it altogether among the aristocracy, now," said another; **I suppose you wouldn't look at anybody under a viscount 1 " '^ Can I help what that thief of an editco* puts into his paper I Flogged ! Huffle Scuffie told me I was a felon, but that wasn't half so bad as this fellow ; " and Johnny kicked the newspaper across the room. " Indict him for a libel," said Fisher. "Particularly for saying you wanted to marry a ooimtess^a daughter," said another clerk. " I never heard such a scandal in my life," declared a third ^ " and then to say that the girl wouldn't look at you." But not the less was it felt by aU in the office that Johnny Eames was becoming a leading man among them, and that he was- one with whom each of them would be pleased to be intimate. And even among the grandees this affair of the railway station did him no real harm. It was known that Crosbie had deserved to be thi-ashed, and known that Fames had thrashed him. It was all very well for Sir Baffle Buffle to talk of police ma^strateB and mis- demeanors^ but all the world at the Income-tax Office knew veiy 49 SEE, THE CONQUERING HERO COMESr 71 well that Eames had come out from that affair with his head up- right, and his right foot foremost. ^' Never mind about the newspaper,'* a thoughtful old senior clerk siud to him. ** As he did get the licking and jou didn't, you ean afford to laugh at the newspaper." ^ And you wouldn't write to the editor % " " No, no ; certainly not No one thinks of defending himself to a newspaper except an ass ; — unless it be some fellow who wants to haTB his name puffed. You may write whafs as true as the gospel, but they'll know how to make fun of it." Johnny therefore gave up his idea of an indignant letter to the editor, but he felt that he was bound to give some explanation of the whole matter to Lord De Guest. The affair had happened as he was coming from the earfs house, and aJl his own concerns had now been made so Q»ich a matter of interest to his kind friend, thai he thought that he eould not with propriety leave the earl to learn from the newspapers either the facts or the false- hoods. And, therefore, before he left his office he wrote the fuUdwing letter i — •*MtLobd,— * He thought a good deal about the style in which he ought to address the peer, nev^ having hitherto written to him. He began, *^ My dear Lord," on •one »heet of paper, and then put it aside, thinkii^; that it looked over-bold. ^* My Lobo^ — '^ As you have been 8» viery kind to me, I feel that I OQght to tell you what happened the other morning at the railway station, as I was cooiing back from Guestwick. That scoundrel Crosbie got into the same carriage with me at the Barchester Junction, and sat opposite to me all the way up to London. I •did not speak a word to him, or he to me ; but when he got out do ; but I made an attempt, and I did give him a black eye. A whole quantity of policemen got round us, and I hadn't a fair chance. I know you will think that I wa» wrong, and perhaps I was ; but what could I do when he sat oppoeite to me there for two hours, looking as though he thought himself the finest fellow in all London T " They've put a horrible paragraph mto one of the newspap er» paying that I got so *• fiogged * that I haven't been able to stir since. It is an atrocious falsehood, as ib all the rest of the news- paper account, I was not touched. He was not nearly so bad a customer as the bull, and seemed to take it all very quietly. I muat acknowledge, though, that be didn^t get such a beating as he deserved. " Your friend Sir R. B. sent for me this momrng, and told me I Was a felon. I didn't seem to- care much for that, for he might as well have called me a murderer cm* a burglar ; but I shaH care very- much indeed if I have made you angry with me. But what I most fear is the anger of some one else, — at Aningtost. " Believe me to be, my Lord, '* Yours veiy much obliged and most szneereiy, **JOHN EameSw** " I knew he'd do it if ever he got the oi{^X)riuiiity," said the earl when he had r&aA his letter } and he walked about hia room striking his hands together, and then thrusting his thumbs into his waistcoat pockets. " I knew he was made of the right stuff," and the earl rejoiced greatly in the prowess of his favourite. " I'd have done it myself if I'd seen him. I do believe I would." Then he went back to the breakfast-room and told Lady Julia. " What do you think ? " said he ; ^* Johnny Eames has come across Crosbie^ and given him a desperate beating." " No 1 " said Lady Julia, putting down her newspaper and spec- tacles, and expressing by the light of her eyes anything but Christian horror at the wickedness of the ^Qodi. ''SEEy THE CONQUJ^RING HERO COMES:' 73 ,' "But he has, though. I knew he would if he saw him." ^* Beaten him ! Actually beaten him ! " ** Sent him home to Lady Alezandrina with two black eyes." " Two black eyes ! What a young pickle ! But did he get hurt himself]" " Not a scratchy he says*" " And what'll they do to him ? " " Nothing. Crosbie won't be fool enough to do anything. A man becomes an outlaw when he plays such a game as he has played. Anybody's hand may be raised against him with im- punity. He can't show his face, you know. He can't come forward and answer questions as to what be has done. There are offences which the law can't touch, but which outrage public feeling so strongly that any one may take upon himself the duty of punishing them. He has been thrashed, and that will stick to him till he dies." " Do tell Johnny from me that I hope he didn't get hurt," said Lady Julia. The old lady cbuld not absolutely congratulate hjn on his feat of arms, but she did the next thing to it. But the earl did pongi:0.tulate him, with a full open assurance of his approval. ** I hope," he said, " I should have done the same at your age, under similar circumstances, and I'm very glad that he proved less difficult than the bull. I'm quite sure you didn't want any one to help you with Master Crosbie. As for that other person at Alltngton, if I understand such matters at all, I think she will forgive you," It may, however, be a question whether the earl did understand such matters at all. And then he added, in a postscript : " When you write to me again, — and don't be long first, begin your letter, ' My dear Lord De Guest,' — that is the proper way." :i CHAPTER VII. AN OLD man's complaint. '' Have you been thinking again of what I was saying to you, Bell 1 " Bernard said to his cousin one morning. '' Thinking of it, Bernard 1 Why should I think more of it f I had hoped that you had forgotten it yourself." " No/' he said ; ** I am not so easy-hearted as that. I cannot look on such a thing as I would the purchase of a horse, which I could give up without sorrow if I found that the animal was too costly for my purse.' I did not tell you that I loved you till I was sure of myself, and having made myself sure I cannot change at aU." " And yet you would have me change." " Yes, of course I would. If your heart be free now, it must of course be changed before you come to love any man. Such change as that is to be looked for. But when you have loved, then it will not be easy to change you." " But I have not." '* Then I have a right to hope. I have been hanging on here, Bell, longer than I ought to have done, because I could not bring myself to leave you without speaking of this again. I did not wish to seem to you to be importuiiate-^— :^«" " If you could only belie v6 me in what I say." "It is not that I do not believe. I am not a puppy or a fo6l» to flatter myself that you must be in love with me. I believe you well enough. But still it is possible that your mind may alter." AN OLD MAN'S COMPLAINT, 75 " It is impossible.'* " I do not know whether my uncle or your mother have spoken to you about this." " Such speaking would have no effect" In facty her mother had spoken to her, but she truly said that such speaking would have no effect. If her cousin could not win the battle by his own skill, he might have been quite sure, looking at her character as it was known to him, that he would not be able to win it by the skill of others. " We have all been made very unhappy," he went on to say, " by this calamity which has fallen on poor Lily." " And because she has been deceived by the man she did love, I am to make matters square by marrying a man I " and then she paused. **Dear Bernard, you should not drive me to say words which will sound harsh to you." " No words can be harsher than those which you have abready spoken. But, Bell, at any rate, you may listen to me." Then he told her how desirable it was with reference to all the concerns of the Dale family that she should endeavour to look favourably on his proposition. It would be good for them all, he said, especially for Lily^ as to whom, at the present moment, their uncle felt so kindly. He, as Bernard pleaded, was so anxious at heart for this marriage, that he would do anything that was asked of hint if he were gratified. But if he were not gratified in this, he would feel that he had ground for displeasura Bell, as she had been desired to listen, did listen very patiently. But when her cousin had finished, her answer was very short. " Nothing that my uncle can say, or think, or do, can make any difference in this," said she, " You will think nothing, then, of the happiness of others." " I would not marry a man I did not love, to ensure any amount of happiness to others ; — at least I know I ought not to do so. But I do not believe I should ensure any one's happiness by this marriage. Certainly not yours." After this Bernard had acknowledged to himself that the diffi- 76 THE SMALL HOU^E AT ALLIN^TOK , ■■' culties in his way were great. '' I will go away till next autumn/' he said to his uncle. *' If you would give up your profession and remain here, she would not be so perverse." '' I cannot do that, sir. I cannot risk the well being of my life on such a chance." Then his uncle had been angry with him, as well as with his niece. In his anger he determined that he would go again to his sister-in-law, and, after some unreasonable fashion, he resolved that it would become him to be very angry with her also, if she declined to assist him with all her influence as a mother. " Why should they not both marry 1 " he said to himself. Lord De Guest*s offer as to young Eames had been very generous. As he had then declared, he had not been able to express his own opinion at once ; but on thinking oyer what the earl had said, h^ had found himself very willing to 'hpal the family wound in the manner proposed, if any such Kealing might be possible. That, however, could not be done quite as yet. When the time should come, and he thought it might come soon, — perhaps in the spring, when the days should be' fine and the evenings again long, — he would be willing to take his share with the earl in establishing that new household. To Crosbie he had refused to give anything, and there was upon his conscience a shade of remorse in that he had so refused. But if Lily could be brought to love this other man, he would be more open-handed. She should have her share as though she was in fact his daughter. But then, if he intended to do so much for them at the Sihall House, should not they in return do something also for him ) So thinking, he went again to his sister-in-law, determined to explain his views, even though it might be at the risk of some hard words between theuL As re- garded himself, he did not much care for hard words spoken to him. He almost expected that people's words should be hard and painful. He did not look for the comfort of affectionate soft greetings, and perhaps would not have appreciated them had they come to him. He caught Mrs. Dale walking in the garden, and AN OLD MAN'S COMPLAINT, 77 brought her into his own room, feeling that he had Sv. better chance there than in her own house. She, with an old dislike to being lectured in that room, had endeavoured to avoid tha interview, but had failed. *' So I met John £ames at the manor," he had said to her in the garden. "Ah, yes; and how did he get on there? I cannot conceive poor Johnny keeping holiday with the earl and his sister. How did he behave to them, and how did they behave to him ? " *' I can assiu'e you he was very much at home there." "Was he, indeed) Wey> I hope it will do him good. He is, I'm sure^a very good young man ;, only rather awkward." ** I didn't think him awkward at all. Youll find, Mary, that he'll do very well ; — a great deal better than his father did." "I'm sure I hope he may." After that Mrs. Dale made her attempt to escape; but the squire had taken her prisoner, and led her captive into the house. " Mary," he said, as sooq as he had induced her. to sit down, "it is time that this should be settled between my nephew and niece." " I am afraid there will be nothing to settle," " What do you mean ; — ^that you disapprove of it ? " "By no means,— personally. I should approve of it very strongly. But that has nothing to do with the question." t " Yes, it ha^. I beg your pardon, but it must have, and should have a great deal to do with it. Of course, I am not saying that anybody should now ever be compelled to marry anybody." " I hope not" " I never said that they ough^, i^d never thought so. But I do think that the wishes of all her family should have very great weight with a girl that has been well brought up." " I don't know whether Bell has been well brought up ; but in such a matter as this nobody's yi^^s would weigh a feather with her } and, indeed, I could not take i^pon myself even to express a wish. To you I can say that I should have been very happy if she could have regarded her cousin as you wish her to do." 78 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON, (I You mean that you are afraid to tell her so 1 " I am afraid to do what I think is wrong, if you mean that" " I don't think it would be wrong, and therefore I shall speak to her myself" " You must do as you like about that, Mr. Dale ; I can't prevent you. I shall think you wrong to harass her on such a matter, and I fear also that her answer wull not be satisfactory to you. If you choose to tell her your opinion, you must do so. Of course I shall think you wrong, that's all" Mrs. Dale's voice as she said this was stem enough, and so was her countenance. She could not forbid the uncle to speak his mind to his niece, but she especially disliked the idea of any interference with her daughter. The sqiure got up and walked about the room, trying to compose himself that he might answer her rationally, but without anger. " May I go now ? " said Mrs. Dale. " May you go 1 Of course you may go if you like it. If you think that I am intruding upon you in speaking to you of the welfare of your two girls, whom I endeavoured to regard as my own daughters, — except in this, that I know they have never been taught to love me, — if you think that is an interference on my part to show anxiety for their welfare, of course yon may go." " I did not mean to say anything to hurt you, Mr. Dale." " Hurt me ! What does it signify whether I am hurt or not 1 I have no children of my own, and of course my only business in life is to provide for my nephews and nieces. I am an old fool if I expect that they are to love me in return, and if I venture to express a wish I am interfering and doing wrong ! It is hard, — very hard. I know well that they have been brought up to dis- like me, and yet I am endeavouring to do my duty by them." " Mr. Dale, that accusation has not been deserved. They have not been brought up to dislike you. I believe that they have both loved and respected you as their uncle ; but such love and respect will not give you a right to dispose of their hands." " Who wants to dispose of their hands 1 " AN OLD MAN'S COMPLAINT, 7^ ** There are some things in which I think no uncle, — no parent, — should interfere, and of all such things this is the chief. If after that you may choose to tell her your wishes, of coiuise you can do so." " It will not be much good aft^r you have set her against me." **Mr. Dale, you have no right to say such things to me, and you are very unjust in doing so. If you think that I have set my girls against you, it will be much' better that we should leave Allington altogether. I have been placed in circumstances which have made it difficult for me to do my duty to my children ; bu I have endeavoured to do it, not regarding my own personal wishes. I am quite sure, however, that it would be wrong in me to keep them here, if I am to be told by you that I have taught them to regard you unfavourably. Indeed, I cannot suffer such a thing to be said to me." All this Mrs. Dale said with an air of decision, and with a voice expressing a sense of injury received, which made the squire feel that she was very much in earnest. "Is it not true," he said, defending himself, " that in all that relates to the girls you have ever regarded me with suspicion % " " No, it is not true." And then she corrected herself, feeling that there was something of truth in the squire's last assertion. " Certainly not with suspicion," she said. ** But as this matter has gone so far, I will explain what my real feelings have been. In worldly matters you can do much, for my girls, and have done much." " And wish to do more," said the squire. " I am sure you do. But I c^nnpt on that account give up my place as their only living parent. They are my children, and not yours. And even could I bring myself to allow you to act as their guardian and natural protector, they would not consent to such an arrangement. You cannot call that suspicion." •* I can call it jealousy." ** And should not a mother be jealous of her children's love % " During all this time the squire was walking up and down the 8o THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON, room with his hands in his trousers pockets. And when Mrs. Dale had laat spoken, he continued his walk for some time in silence. " Perhaps it is well that you should have spoken out," he said. " The manner in which you accused me made it necessary.'' " I did not intend to accuse you, and I do not do so now ; but I think that you have been, and that you are, very hard to me very hard indeed. I have endeavoured to make your children and yourself also, sharers with me in such prosperity as has been mine. I have striven to add to. your comfort and to their happi- ness. I am most anxious to secure their future welfare. You would have been very wrong had you declined to accept this on their behalf; but I think that in return for it you need not have begrudged me the- affection and obedience which generally follows from such good offices." " Mr. Dale, I have begnidged you nothing of this." " I am hurt ; — I am hurt,'* he continued. And she was sur- prised by his look of pain even more than by the unaccustomed warmth of his words. " What you have said has, I have known, been the case all along. But though I had felt it to be so, I own that I am hurt by your open words." " Because I have said that my own children must ever be my own?** , "Ah, you have SBrid more thaa that. You and the girls have- been living here, close .to me, for. — how many years is it now ? and during all those years there has grown up for me no kindly feeling. Do you think that I cannot hear, and see, and feel ] Do y(&^u suppose that I am a fool and do not know ] As for yourself you woidd never enter this house if you did not feel yourself con- sfeained to do so for the sake of appearances. I suppose it is all as it should be. Having no children of my own, I owe the duty of a parent to my nieces ; but I have no right to expect from them in return either love, regard, or obedience. I kncfw I am keeping you Jhere against your will, Mary. I won't do so any linger." And he made a sign to her that she was to depart. AN OLD MAN'S COMPLAINT, 8t As she rose from her seat her heart was softened towards him. In these latter days he had shown much kindness to the girls, — a kindness that was more akin to the gentleness of love than had ever come from him before. Lily's fate had seemed to melt even his sternness, and he had striven to be tender in his words and ways. And now he spoke as though he had loved the girls, and had loved them in vain. Doubtless he had been a disagreeable neigh- bour to his sister-in-law, making her feel that it was never for her personally that he had opened his hand. Doubtless he had been moved by an unconscious desiro to undermine and take upon himself her authority with her own children. Doubtless he had looked askance at her from the first day of her marriage with his brother. She had been keenly alive to all this since she had first known him, and more keenly alive to it than ever since the failure of those efforts she had made to live with him on terms of affec- tion, made during the first year or two of her residence at the Small House. But, nevertheless, in spite of all, her heart bled for him now. She had gained her victory over him, having fully held her own position with her children ; but now tiiat he complained that he had been beaten in the struggle, her heart bled for him. " My brother," she said, and as she spoke she offered him her hands, " it may be that we have not thought as kindly of each other as we should have done." " I have endeavoured," said the old man. " I have endea- voured ^" And then he stopped, either hindered by some excess of emotion, or unable to find the words which were neces- sary for the expression of his meaning. " Let us endeavour once again, — both of us." " What, begin again at near seventy ! No, Mary^ there is no more beginning again for me. All this shall make no difference to the girls. As long as I am here they shall have the house. If they marry, I will do for them what I can. I believe Bernard is 'much in earnest in his suit, and if Bell will listeD> to him, she shall still be welcomed here as mistress of Allington. What you VOL. l( G /r 83 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON, have said shall make no difference ; — ^but as to beginning again^ it is simply impossible/' After that Mrs. Dale walked home through the garden by her- self. He had studiously told her that that house in which they lived should be lent, not to her, bu,t to her children, during hia lifetime. He had positively declined the offer of her warmer regard. He had made her understand that they were to look on each other almost as enemies ; but that she, enemy as she was, should still be allowed the use of his munificence, because he chose to do his duty by his nieces ! ";It will be better for us that we shall leave it," she said to herself as she seated herself in her own arm-chair over the drawing-room fire. CHAPTER VIII. DB. CROFTS IS CALLED IN. Mrs. Dale had not sat long in her drawing-room before tidings were brought to her which for a while drew her mind away from that question of her removal. ** Mamma," said Bell, entering the room, " I really do believe that Jane has got scarlatina." Jane, the parlour-maid, had been ailing for the last two days, but nothing serious had hitherto been suspected. Mrs. Dale instantly jumped up. '*Who is with her]" she asked. It appeared from BelVs answer that both she and Lily had been with the girl, and that Lily was still in the room. Whereupon Mrs. Dale ran upstairs, and there was on the sudden a commotion in the house. In an hour or so the village doctor was there, and he escpressed an opinion that the girl's ailment was certainly scarlatina. Mrs. Dale, not satisfied with this, sent off a boy to Guestwick for Dr. Crofts, having herself maintained an opposition of many years' standing against the medical reputation of the apothecary, and gave a positive order to the two girls not to visit poor Jane again. She herself had had scarlatina, and might do as she pleased. Then, too, a nurse was hired. All this changed for a few hours the current of Mrs. Dale's thoughts : but in the evening she went back to the subject of her m